


Knights Out

by temple_mistress



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Crack, Anakin is almost a Knight, Body Shots, Casual Sex, Drunk Jedi, Drunk Sex, Getting Together, Humor, Idiots in Love, Jedi in love, Knights out, Multi, Partying, Pissy-Wan, Public Blow Jobs, Sexykin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 68,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6180352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temple_mistress/pseuds/temple_mistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was Knights Out, the hallowed— if somewhat underground— annual bash for all the Padawans who had ascended to Knighthood in the past year. Although certainly not openly endorsed by the Council or any self-respecting and proper Jedi Knight, it wasn’t uncommon to find Council Members and other revered Masters dancing on tables, participating in and winning drinking contests, or sucking someone off in a corner at Knights Out. Organized by a semi-secret host each year, no one was actually ever invited to the party, but somehow word of the actual date and time seemed to fall on just the right ears.</p><p>After yet another fight, Anakin and Obi-Wan unknowingly both attend, trying to forget each other. The Force has other ideas, it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Get This Party Started

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ, starting in January 2006. This is a WIP, but now back in action!
> 
> Disclaimer: The entire "Knights Out" AU is from my fevered imagination of a much more debauched Jedi Order. There's an excessive amount of drinking, casual sex, lewd behavior, and coarse language.

 

 

_**“I'm comin' up so you better get this party started…” - Pink**  
_

_Damn right_ , Anakin thought, nodding his head in agreement. From the top of the stairs, the Jedi Padawan surveyed what could only be described as the biggest rave scene he had ever dreamed of. Wild colored lights strobed around the room, casting huge distorted shadows on the walls, alternately spotlighting and hiding the writhing throng of partygoers on the dance floor. Anakin’s deep blue eyes scanned the crowd as he felt his body unconsciously begin to move with the grinding beat. He licked his lips and grinned hugely; oh yes, it was _definitely_ going to be a good party this year.

Force knew, he needed the distraction.

It was Knights Out, the hallowed—if somewhat underground—annual bash for all the Padawans who had ascended to Knighthood in the past year. Although certainly not openly endorsed by the Council or any self-respecting and proper Jedi Knight, it wasn’t uncommon in the least to find Council Members and other revered Masters dancing on tables, participating in and _winning_ drinking contests, or sucking someone off in a corner at Knights Out. Organized by a semi-secret host each year, no one was actually ever invited to the party, but somehow word of the actual date and time seemed to fall on just the right ears.

Rumor had it that Master Vos was responsible for the festivities this year, and Anakin knew that if Quinlan Vos was involved, it would _definitely_ be a night to remember. After all, Master Vos had a reputation as a rogue Jedi with an irreverent attitude towards all things pertaining to propriety and the Jedi Code. He was also a good friend of Obi-Wan’s; they had been friends since they were Padawans, though Anakin could hardly see how. Master Vos’ more wild and reckless tendencies, it seemed, had never rubbed off on Anakin’s always well-behaved Master. _Too bad—I’m sure he could show my Master how to relax and have a good time,_ Anakin scowled to himself with frustration.

Looking around, he saw no sign of Master Vos, but party was already in full swing. Padawans, the new class of Knights, and Masters all mixed together under the swirling lights and pounding music, undulating en masse in time to the heavy bass.

As one of the most senior Padawans, Anakin had no problem finding out the details about tonight. After all, he’d attended Knights Out since he was 17, totally without his Master’s permission or knowledge. Anakin had to chuckle…as if straight-laced Obi-Wan Kenobi had ever even _thought_ about attending Knights Out!

He could just imagine Obi-Wan's reaction to such a party. He’d stand as tall as he could, (which really wasn’t that much anymore, now that Anakin stood a good couple of inches over him), his arms folded into the sleeves of his robe, attempting to look commanding and authoritative. With a scowl and then a tug on his beard in a vain attempt to look severe and _Masterly_ , he’d use that snotty “I’m-the-best-Jedi-in-the-galaxy-and-I-know-it” voice, telling Anakin that Knights Out was a _‘contemptible waste of time that could be better spent meditating or reading, rather than gyrating lewdly to an utterly dreadful cacophony of noise that unfortunately passes for modern music.’_ Anakin thought that if Obi-Wan could ever relax enough he might just have a good time, but that would require him to actually attend a social function that didn’t involve datapads or protocol droids.

On the other hand, if his Master ever found out about all the things that went on at Knights Out, not to mention all of Anakin’s adventures over the years, he’d never allow Anakin out of the Temple. In addition to hours of meditating on the virtues of a sexless and completely _boring_ life, he’d force Anakin into a service detail that would undoubtedly involve filing Master Yoda’s claws, shining Master Windu’s head, and a week of laundry duty for the crechelings.

Anakin shuddered at the thought. _Please, not Windu’s head. Anything but that._

How Anakin had kept his attendance at Knights Out a secret all these years he couldn’t figure, all things considered. Anakin’s first year at Knights Out found him spending a good hour throwing up in the ‘fresher after one-too-many Corellian Crushers—but honestly, how was he to know? Barriss had just kept filling his cup with the fruity, potent concoction, telling him to “drink up!” It had tasted so good and went down so smoothly that Anakin had naïvely thought it was just juice. How he had got home, into bed, and managed to attend Master Windu’s 0800 class was still a mystery of the Force.

Then there was the year that he and Tru Veld had gotten into a fist-fight on the dance floor over…what was it? Oh, yeah, something incredibly _important:_ who did a better “Running Man”. He’d had to come up with a pretty elaborate cover story for the black eye—luckily Barriss had snuck into Master Unduli’s Healer bag and had been able to apply some bacta to the cut on his cheek to avoid stitches. Obi-Wan had thankfully assumed it was Anakin’s teenage clumsiness, thoughtfully taking the time to lecture him on the merits of Jedi grace.

And then there was _last_ year. Anakin’s cheeks flushed with that particular memory…what there was of it, anyway. After consuming several Furry Wookiees and a double shot of what Barriss called Gungan Gut-Rot, he spent most of his time in the ‘fresher again. The logistics were still in question, as were some of the particular details, but he definitely wasn’t _sick_ this time. What he did remember was that when he wasn’t busy groping Aayla and watching her do un-fucking-believable things to him with her lekku, he was on his knees in another stall with Ferus Olin— _Ferus!—_ slurping and sucking the life out of his rival. It was surprising as all hell to Anakin that he was _turned on_ by the way Ferus kept moaning _‘fuck!’_ over and over while tugging on Anakin’s braid to pull him closer.

And as if _that_ wasn’t enough (and it damn well should have been—hello? _Ferus?_ What the fuck had he been thinking?), there was a strange snippet of memory involving Masters Tachi and Unduli. He somehow found himself waking up to giggles—female giggles—in the back of some speeder parked in what appeared to be a dark corner of the Temple’s hanger. Anakin couldn’t be sure, but he was fairly certain he remembered lips pressing against his, a hand cupping his cheek, then another slowly sliding down his chest and resting on his groin. Then more giggles, and a familiar voice saying _‘Sith, woman, he’s but a babe still, Obi-Wan would kill you…’_. He could swear that when he forced his eyes open he saw what appeared to be Master Siri Tachi, half-naked, smiling at him, then turning away to start kissing someone with wild abandon…was that _Master Luminara_?

No, he _had_ to have been dreaming. That _couldn’t_ have happened, could it? Well, real or not, it had been _a lot_ of fun to imagine over the last year; he could hardly look either Master in the eye after that.

Anakin had no doubt that this year would be no less entertaining. Force, it had better be. With any luck, it would be his last Knights Out as a Padawan, the last time he would have to sneak off under elaborate pretenses. For as much fun as he had each year, he still hated lying to Obi-Wan. Even when his Master was being the most irritatingly unreasonable prick in the universe.

Like earlier tonight.

After yet _another_ fight with Obi-Wan, this time something about how carelessly he had flown his new Delta-Six before landing—and how could he _not_? With his modifications, the Six had just _begged_ him to roll her on approach—Anakin just couldn’t take another evening of brooding silences, awkward pauses, and a tension that never used to exist between them. He had even gone to his Master’s room to try to apologize, but accidentally overheard Obi-Wan on the comm, saying something like _‘I can’t take much more of this!_ '

Anakin’s temper had flared at being talked about behind his back, Obi-Wan had chastised him for eavesdropping, and after a totally juvenile stare-down, Anakin had stormed out saying he was going to a holo with Padmé, knowing that would make his Master even angrier. He never understood why Padmé bothered Obi-Wan so much, but it was _always_ a touchy subject.

Which was _exactly_ why he had said it.

Of course, his Master was unaware Padmé was not only off-planet, but there was also absolutely _nothing_ going on between her and Anakin. How could there be? Padmé was fooling around with some Senator’s Junior Lackey of Something, and Anakin? Well, he had unfortunately, and foolishly, fallen in love with the very man whose face he was going to try to erase from his thoughts for at least one night.

His fucking Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He wasn’t sure how it happened, or when it started exactly, but Anakin had tried just about everything he could to _not_ feel the rush of emotions that flared to life whenever he and Obi-Wan were together. Obi-Wan would be completely horrified if he knew how he starred in all of Anakin’s fantasies as a _very_ skilled, _very_ aggressive, and _very naked_ lover, how Anakin couldn’t even take a proper shower anymore without ending it with a moaned _“Master…”,_ or how turned on Anakin got even when they argued these days, seeing Obi-Wan’s face flushed indignant, hair ruffled, chest heaving as his blue-green eyes sparked with intensity.

_Force, I need a drink_ , he thought, spying a spot at the bar. With the bass pounding in his chest, he strode over to the bar with a definite swagger to his leather-clad hips. Dressed in his signature black leather pants and black boots, he had selected a form-fitting dark blue shirt that clung to every muscle and accentuated his eyes. He could feel the pairs of hungry eyes that followed his every move, and while it provided a certain thrill, it simultaneously didn’t matter because he really only wanted one person to look at him that way, and he knew it would never, ever happen.

Taking a sip from the cool bottle of ale, Anakin leaned against the bar, looking out on the party. He shook his head, trying to rid it of his lurid thoughts. Fuck Obi-Wan Kenobi. Tonight was about making sure _Anakin Skywalker_ had fun. He would forget about his unreasonable crush on his completely unobtainable uptight Master, and with any luck, find himself back in a ‘fresher stall, and not alone, either…

* * *

 

“Come _on_ Quin, will you just fucking _do it_ , already?” Obi-Wan begged, his face red and flushed as he looked back over his shoulder.

Quinlan growled and pushed Obi-Wan up against the cool window, putting one hand on Obi-Wan's hip and the other on his shoulder. “Patience,” he panted, “is the way of the Jedi,” he grunted, thrusting hard into Obi-Wan.

“ _Force_ , you are such an ass,” Obi-Wan gasped, his eyes closing briefly from the deep and satisfying pleasure that was beginning to build within him. _Sith hell, I should not need this so much_. But he did, and looking down at his impressively stiff erection, that was especially true tonight. Frustrated and needing release, Obi-Wan reached down to grasp his achingly swollen cock, only to have his hand batted away and replaced by a larger, stronger hand. Obi-Wan bit his lip and groaned appreciatively under Quinlan’s expert touch.

“Un-uh. That’s my job,” the Kiffar murmured, his breath hot on Obi-Wan’s neck. “You’re the one who called me, remember? What happened? Have another fight with that cock-teasing apprentice of yours?” He gave Obi-Wan’s length a couple of firm tugs, followed by long strokes that lingered at the tip, eliciting a sharp moan from the other Jedi.

Obi-Wan shook his head in denial, his sweat-drenched hair falling into his eyes, sticking to his forehead. He didn’t want to think about Anakin…not now…

Picking up on Obi-Wan’s thoughts, Quinlan couldn’t help himself. “Yes you do, Kenobi. You want to pretend he’s the one fucking you right now, his long fingers wrapped around your cock, pulling and teasing you.” Quinlan leaned in closer, his teeth grazing Obi-Wan’s ear. “Biting your ear, whispering _‘Come, Master, come for me’_ …”

_Anakin…Anakin’s hands roaming his body, Anakin’s lips pressing into his shoulder, his warm tongue wet as it traced a line from Obi-Wan’s shoulder up to his ear…_

“ _Ana…Quiiiin…”_ he moaned as he came forcefully into Quinlan’s skilled hand. Seconds later he felt the other man tense up as Obi-Wan’s mind was invaded with images of Quinlan and his former apprentice Aayla Secura _in flagrante delicto._ Vos shuddered in climax, holding Obi-Wan against him for a moment until his body stilled, then quickly separated, as though it was the natural course of business.

Which it was, of course. Obi-Wan and Quin had been fuck-buddies for several years now, since one wild Knights Out that found them both drunk, lonely, and unreasonably horny for the one thing they couldn’t have—their Padawans. Anakin had been only 16 then, and Aayla, well, she had been young enough that even _Quin_ thought of her as off-limits jail-bait. It had been a beneficial arrangement for both men, a way to satisfy their lust, even if Quinlan _was_ lewd, forceful, and definitely _not_ civilized.

Having calmed his breathing, Obi-Wan spied his leggings lying in a crumpled heap next to the couch and began to get dressed. Pulling on his tunics, he glared over at Quinlan, who still lay splayed naked on the couch. “Do you mind, Quin? I’d rather not have to get the cushions cleaned again because you are too lazy to cover your ass.”

Not moving a muscle, the dark-haired Jedi smiled lazily, the fog of lust just beginning to clear from his intense eyes. “Fucking relax, would you?” he drawled, obviously sated from their encounter. “Obi-Wan, how can you possibly still be so uptight after _that_? I mean, that was the whole point, wasn’t it?”

Obi-Wan threw Quin’s trousers at him, hitting him in the head. “I am _not_ uptight,” he said defensively. “And by the way, _thanks_ for projecting again—like I need to see your soddy fantasies about Aayla and her lekku,” he grimaced, trying desperately to forget. “By the stars,” he muttered, holding his hand over his eyes.

Quin threw back his head, laughing. “ _My_ fantasies? Give me a break. I think the whole damn Temple pretty much heard _your_ fantasy just now. Who just came with his Padawan’s name screaming from his lips? ‘ _Anakin!’_ ” Quinlan mocked with a wanton moan. “It sure as hell wasn’t me…well, not this time, anyway,” he added.

Obi-Wan shot him a look of death, which only made Quin laugh harder. “You are _such_ a fucking bastard, Quinlan Vos. Why I put up with this—”

“Arrangement? Because I’m a good fuck, Kenobi, and you know it. You might say, and I emphasize _you_ here, that it’s my _speci-al-i-ty_ ,” Quin said, imitating his friend’s clipped aristocratic accent. “Face it, you need me. How else would you have made it through the last couple of years with that sweet young ass wagging in your face day in and day out? You have it so bad for your Padawan you even get turned on arguing with him now. Now _that’s_ a problem. What was it this time again? Something about his _flying_?”

Obi-Wan sighed and rolled his eyes as he wandered into the kitchen area. “ _Yes_. He has that damn Delta-Six now and he thinks he’s just bloody hot shit. I’m telling you, Quin, he’s going to be the death of me.”

“Yeah, when you finally let him fuck you to death!”

He shot another lethal glare at Quinlan, setting out two glasses and reaching for a bottle. “I _merely_ commented that he might not need to fly so fast, _upside down_ , through the upper levels of Coruscant’s atmosphere, nor do barrel rolls on approach to the Temple hangar. That is _all_.”

Quin raised his eyebrow. “Of course, you weren’t screaming at him or anything at the time, now were you?”

Obi-Wan’s cheeks flushed as he looked down to pour some wine. “I—I could have been, I suppose. But really, was all that necessary? We _all_ know he can fly, for Sith’s sake. The whole damn _galaxy_ knows Anakin Skywalker can fly!” He walked over and handed the other Jedi a glass.

Quin nodded as he took a big gulp. “Lighten up, would you? Did you ever think he does that just because he knows it gets your goat _every_ time? Besides, the boy has a new toy—let him play. And, well, he _is_ the best pilot out there, hands down.” He took another ample drink, looking around the Kenobi-Skywalker residence. “Where is he tonight, anyway?”

Obi-Wan scowled. “Well, after he overheard me on the comm with _you_ , we had another fight and he stormed out. The cheeky bastard even had the nerve to say he was going to a holo with _Padmé!”,_ her name coming out in a derisive sneer. “What he sees in that prissy tart I will _never_ understand!”

Quinlan couldn’t help but chuckle at the jealous outburst. “Do you even hear yourself? Explain to me again why you don't just tell him how you feel already?”

Obi-Wan’s face paled. “I _can’t_ , Quin, you know that. He’s my Padawan for one, and-and he’s not interested in me, for another.”

“Oh, really? And you know this _how_? I think you’re just too worried about what is right and proper and the correct protocol and all that other bullshit. It’s a nice _theory_ , but it’s not going to keep you warm at night, Kenobi,” he said, giving Obi-Wan a pointed look.

“Thank you, _Master Vos_. I had forgotten how _little_ advice coming from you actually helps,” Obi-Wan retorted with abundant sarcasm.

A smirk caused the yellow tattoo across Quin’s face to crinkle. “I don’t know, Obi-Wan. You know what a rogue I am, and I don’t really give a fuck about protocol. If you don’t hurry up, _I_ just might have to have me a sample of some Skywalker—”

Obi-Wan’s hand shot out instantly, grabbing Quin’s arm forcefully, nearly spilling the red wine. "Quinlan." His eyes darkened as his voice lowered. “Fun is fun. This is not. Do not even _think_ about—”

Quin reached over and slowly pried Obi-Wan’s fingers off of his arm, meeting his friend’s eyes with a dark intensity of their own. “Careful, Obi-Wan. That sounds suspiciously like a threat.” Wanting to lighten the mood, he gave his friend a warm smile, squeezing his fingers. “Besides, you know what I want anyway. And tonight is the night!” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Obi-Wan relaxed and waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, Force help poor Aayla, stuck with the likes of you.” He gestured toward the door. “Speaking of which, aren’t you late for your little… _party_?”

Quin looked at his chrono. “Fuck, yes I am.” Dressing quickly, he shot Obi-Wan a pleading look. “You’re coming, right? I mean, of all years, you _have_ to come tonight! It won’t be the same without you.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “And what? Watch your pathetic attempts at seducing your former Padawan? Watch her run to Kit’s arms? I don’t think so, sorry.”

Quin glared. “Fisto’s out on Muunilist settling a trade dispute, but thanks for the support. Come on, Obi-Wan! You need to get out of here and stop being so damn _proper_. Come have a good time and forget about Skywalker for once, would you?”

Obi-Wan mulled it over. He’d only snuck away to Knights Out a couple of times with Quin when they were Padawans. Qui-Gon had never approved of the tradition and had forbade Obi-Wan from going, and being the Perfect Padawan, Obi-Wan had obeyed without question. Then came the years when Siri dumped him, Qui-Gon rejected him, and Quin, well, Quin was there with all sorts of temptations.

He started to nod slowly. He hadn’t been to Knights Out in years. _Force knows, it would be nice to just go out and have some_ fun. What harm would it do to go and try to forget Anakin for one night?

"All right," he grinned at Quinlan, then frowned as he looked down at his tunics. "Just...give me a second—I need to change.”

“Great!” Quin called as Obi-Wan walked into the other room. “But for fuck’s sake, stay away from your boy toy’s leather pants, OK? They make you look short and dumpy!”

_Short and dumpy?_ “Vos, I swear, you better shut that bloody fucking mouth of yours.”

Obi-Wan scowled as he pulled out a pair of slim black trousers and a fitted emerald green shirt that, sadly, got very little use. Obi-Wan was always in his Jedi robes, either as “The Negotiator” representing the Republic or as a stern and proper Master. This, of course, brought his thoughts back to Anakin, his leather pants, and the fact that he was off with Padmé doing Force-knew-what. _Damn you, Anakin Skywalker._ Yes, Knights Out was _exactly_ the thing he needed to rid himself of his ridiculous obsession with his Padawan.

_Sith_ , he’d be happy if he could forget for just one night.

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his tousled auburn hair and smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt, tucking it into the pants that hung low and snug on his hips. He frowned again, reaching up with a tie to pull the longer strands back off his face. He sighed. _I look so old_ , he thought morosely as he viewed his bearded reflection. _I’d be lucky to turn a Hutt’s head now_. The thought of Anakin being attracted to him grew more ridiculous the longer he looked in the mirror. Quinlan’s voice jarred him out of his wallowing.

“Come on, fancy pants! Talk about a prissy tart. Stop fussing and let’s go!” Quin whined from the doorway. He whistled appreciatively as Obi-Wan walked past him into the common room. “Well, just look at you. Is Master Kenobi, dare I say, on the prowl tonight?”

A blush crept over Obi-Wan as Quin invaded his personal space. “Stop it, Quin. I look old and fairly ridiculous. I’m not even sure why I let you talk me into this.”

“Because you want to."  Quinlan moved even closer, resting his palms on Obi-Wan’s chest.  "Hmm...very nice, my friend. Except,” Quin purred, reaching up to open Obi-Wan’s shirt by a couple of buttons, “this is better.” His fingers lingered on Obi-Wan’s chest for a moment, a heated look passing between them. “There’s _definitely_ nothing old about you.”

Obi-Wan slowly removed the other man's hands, wishing desperately that they belonged to a different Jedi, one with deep blue eyes and a cocky smile. “Thank you, Quin, really,” he said, slightly embarrassed. He ran his hands over his shirt again, and pressed his palms over his thighs with a heavy sigh.  “Are you _sure_ I don’t look—”

Quin groaned loudly. “No, would you quit worrying? Besides, why do you care? It’s not like he’s going to be there to see you, right? Didn’t you say he was out with that hot piece of Nubian—”

Obi-Wan choked on the last of his wine. “ _Quinlan,_ by the ever-loving Force... Thanks for reminding me, yet again, that he’s out with _her_.”

“Ok, ok. I’m sorry," Quin apologized, waving his hands in surrender. "Not another word about Skywalker, got it.  Can we go now?”

As they left the apartment, Obi-Wan turned to Quinlan. “So, where _are_ we going, anyway?”

“The Outlander. Best dive in the District!” Quin boasted excitedly, pressing the button for the lift down to the hangar.

Obi-Wan smiled weakly. “The, uh, Outlander?” he asked hesitantly.

Quin gave him a sheepish look, if that was even a look Quinlan Vos was capable of having. “Oh…um. That, ah, wasn’t the place where you and Skywalker…the bounty hunter…?”

Obi-Wan glared. “Yes.” _Sith, I can’t even go out without it relating to Anakin!_

“Uh, sorry…” Quin chuckled, throwing his arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders as they reached the hangar.

With annoyance, Obi-Wan shrugged off the other Jedi’s arm and climbed into the speeder. _How did this happen? Here I am, going out to an unapproved party like I’m some kind of delinquent, hoping to either drink myself into oblivion or find a substitute for Anakin._ He glanced over at Quinlan, admiring how carefree his friend was, his long dark locks flying out behind him in the wind, a big, confident grin on his face. Obi-Wan sighed sadly; he already had a substitute for Anakin, and that simply wasn’t enough anymore.

No, no more substitutes. Tonight was going to be about finding _Obi-Wan Kenobi_ again. Not the Jedi Master, not the fool in love with his Padawan, but the _man_ who used to know how to have a good time. With any luck, he might even do something _reckless_ or _impulsive_.

In other words, he might just have to _relax_.

_If only that wasn’t so hard…_


	2. Pretty Fly for a Jedi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on LJ, Jan 2006. Edited for stylistic preferences.
> 
> Please note: The early chapters of Knights Out were written well before The Clone Wars aired--some characterizations may not necessarily reflect those depicted in TCW.

**“ _All the girlies say he’s pretty fly for a Jedi…” - Offspring  
_**

 

With an abrupt and most certainly reckless swerve, Quinlan pulled his beat-up, trash-laden speeder into a reserved spot in the parking garage. He turned to his passenger, an excited smile curving the yellow tattoo across his nose, softening his usually serious demeanor. “So, are you ready, or what? Let’s go have us a party!”

Obi-Wan grimaced slightly, lobbing some wrappers from Dex's that had blown into his lap back at his driver. “Force help me, Quinlan. I’m beginning to wonder if you were the one who taught Anakin to drive.”

Quin just rolled his eyes and laughed as he hopped gracefully out of the speeder. “Do you complain like that every time he drives or flies you anywhere? Kriff, it’s no wonder the kid does it—you’re too easy.”

“Hmm…I don’t recall _that_ being one of my better-known attributes,” Obi-Wan threw back coyly, frowning as he ran a hand over his wind-blown hair.

The Kiffar smirked, drawing closer to Obi-Wan. “Would you like me to prove to you right here, in this speeder, just how _easy_ you are?” he challenged, running his hands suggestively along the vehicle. “You might be uptight, but I can’t say you’re a _tightas_ _s._ ”

Obi-Wan looked away with a snort, feeling the color rise in his cheeks. “I don’t think I’ve heard you complaining.”

Walking at his side, Quin playfully grabbed the aforementioned ass in appreciation.“That’s for damn sure. And neither will Skywalker when— ”

Obi-Wan sent him a searing glare and slapped at the offensive hand. _“_ _Quinlan.”_

“Uh, _sorry_ ,” Quin said with a wry smile and a look on his face that said he was anything _but_ sorry. “Hey, don’t forget—shields up. We don’t want you passing out when you first walk in the door.”

Even Obi-Wan had to laugh at that. Force-sensitives, alcohol, and a good party were a heady combination. All of those usually-repressed emotions flying fast and furious through the Force could overwhelm the strongest of Force-users, as Obi-Wan found out his first year at Knights Out. Most Jedi agreed it was part of the excitement of Knights Out to _not_ be able to sense much of anything through the Force; it was like having a night off from being a Jedi.

“How could I forget that? I rolled down the bloody stairs, for Sith’s sake! How did I ever explain the bruises to Qui-Gon?” he laughed, shaking his head ruefully at the memory.

Quinlan raised his dark brow. “How did Qui-Gon even _know_ you had bruises? Let me guess—‘ _oops, sorry Master, my towel fell off?_ ’”

Obi-Wan lifted his chin, attempting to look affronted. “I’ll have you know, I didn’t find a use for that excuse until the _next_ year,” he said with a smirk. It was good to be able to joke and laugh when he remembered Qui-Gon now. Quin had helped, certainly, because he’d been there in the days of Obi-Wan’s fierce Padawan crush and knew how much he’d cared for his Master.

But it had been Anakin’s constant presence in Obi-Wan’s life since the day Qui-Gon died that had helped Obi-Wan build a life without Qui-Gon in it. Anakin didn’t know it, but he had made Obi-Wan complete, filling the hole left in his heart by Qui-Gon, not to mention his disastrous Padawan “romance” with Siri Tachi.

 _And then I had to go and fall_ in love _. Completely_ _and_ _totally_ _this time_ _. And utterly foolishly._

Quinlan noticed the melancholy look pass over his friend’s face. “No more talk of long-gone Masters, ex-lovers, and seriously fucking hot Padawans, ok? Unless we’re talking about Aayla, ‘cause that’s different,” he said, swinging his arm over Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

 _Easier said than done,_ _my friend._ Obi-Wan gave him a tight smile. _But I’ll try._

A warm, fragrant breeze blew out of the open double-doors of The Outlander, along with bright lights and a cacophony of sounds. The pair paused at the top of the stairs, leaning over the railing to take in the scene below them.

Quinlan let out a long low whistle. “Isn’t this something else? Hell, I think I just impressed myself.”

“I’m quite confident that isn’t too difficult to do,” Obi-Wan said dryly, leaning his elbows on the railing while he looked around. He sighed heavily. The bad feeling he’d had when they left the Temple was only growing the longer they were here.

Quin narrowed his eyes. “Look, I’m only going to say this once, Sulky-Wan. You can sit in your room whining and pouting about your unrequited love for _your_ fucking ‘Chosen One’ all you want tomorrow, but for tonight, I don’t want to see that sour look on your face again, and I really don’t fucking want to _hear_ your bitching, OK?”

A small smile softened Quin's face as he placed a hand on his friend's arm. “We’re here to have fun, and dammit, you _are_ going to have fun, even if I have to take you back to the ‘fresher and remind you just how much fun I can be. I worked hard to make this night the best Knights Out ever,” he said, scanning the crowd for signs of a certain blue-skinned Twi'lek. Turning back to his friend, he added, “Don’t ruin it for me by making me baby-sit you. Got it?”

Obi-Wan flinched, simultaneously angry and embarrassed. _Baby-sit me?_

“I’m sorry you feel I’m such a _burden_ , Quinlan. I wouldn’t want to spoil the ending of this ridiculously complicated plot you’ve concocted to ensnare Aayla,” he said hotly, yanking his arm away from Quin’s grasp. “This was a bad idea and I shouldn’t have come. Good luck,” he threw out as he turned and started to walk back out the doors.

“Obi-Wan! Come on! Stay!” he heard Quin call, but Obi-Wan didn’t care. He stood outside in the evening chill waiting for a hover taxi to arrive.

A strong hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Come on, come back inside, OK?”

Obi-Wan turned to see the dark, concerned eyes of his friend, but had to look away, ashamed. “Quin, I don’t think I’ll be much fun tonight, and as you said, I don’t want you to have to baby-sit me.”

Quin gave him a shrug, then looked at his chrono. “I have some time before I need to make an appearance. How about I baby-sit you right over to the bar? You look like you could use a drink. Probably more.” He squeezed Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Like old times?”

Obi-Wan gave his friend a hopeful smile. “Are you buying?”

“After what I did for you back at the Temple, _you_ should be paying.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Quinlan, you’re good, but I’m not so desperate as to pay for it.”

“Yet, my friend. _Yet_. You should really look into getting a _‘Frequent Fuckers Card,’_ you know? 10 fucks and the 11th is free?” He cackled at the disgusted look on Obi-Wan’s face.

“Honestly, you make a Hutt look cultured, you know that?”

Quin flashed him a wide, knowing grin. “Well, the Hutts do have an appreciation for Twi'lek females, too, after all…”

Obi-Wan groaned. “You cannot get me a drink fast enough. Really.”

As they descended the stairs, the festive atmosphere wrapped itself around Obi-Wan, invading his senses. The dizzying play of lights led his eyes to walls, ceiling, dancers, groups huddled in close conversation at tables, and even, if he concentrated, couples engaged in anything _but_ conversation in some of the darkened corners. _Glad to see that Knights Out hasn’t changed all that much_. He squinted— _no_. No, that couldn’t be. He could have sworn he saw Adi Gallia giving Plo Koon a lap dance, but the crowds shifted to thankfully obscure his line of vision.

Obi-Wan _really_ needed that drink now.

The music, to his surprise, was infectious and he had to admit, seductive. Even in his younger days, Obi-Wan had never been much of a dancer. It was one of those cruel tricks of the Force that his grace and agility with a lightsaber left him completely when there was no mortal threat and music was involved. Still, he couldn’t help the pull he felt on his body to move in time to the thumping bass.

Arriving at the bar, Quinlan placed a small shot glass filled with blue liquor in his hand. Holding his own up to Obi-Wan’s, he clinked the glasses together with mock solemnity. “To Knights Out. To fun, friends, and fucking!” he toasted, then threw back the shot in one gulp. Leaning in to Obi-Wan, he whispered loudly to be heard over the music. “Should I have added ‘ _to fucking friends’_ too?”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “Kriff,” he sighed dramatically, tossing back his shot as well.

Letting his gaze wander, Obi-Wan noticed the looks they were drawing. At first he had assumed they were for Quinlan, who was not only the host, but seemed to draw attention wherever he went with his tattoos, long dark dreadlocks, and impressive build. But as Obi-Wan glanced about, he found sets of eyes that met and tried to hold his, along with smiles that definitely promised more than a simple hello. He looked back to his companion, unnerved and suddenly extremely self-conscious. He ran his hand nervously over his hair and straightened his shirt.

Obi-Wan nudged Quinlan, leaning in close. “Why is everyone staring at me?” he demanded, in a voice that broke high with near-hysteric paranoia. “Do I really look that bad? It's these pants, these ridiculous pants you talked me into wearing, isn't it?”

Quinlan looked around before responding, a sly grin on his face. “Oh, it's _definitely_ the pants.” He laughed at the horrified look on the other man's face. “ _And,_ it’s probably because they don’t _recognize_ you! You forget, most of them are Paddies and new Knights who only know you as Master Stick-in-his-Ass Kenobi, all buttoned-up in his robes all day long. I know you don’t believe me, but damn, you are fucking _on_ tonight! I expect I’ll be pulling _your_ ass out of the ‘fresher to go home later. That is, if you don’t go in there and start whining about Sky—”

“Stars’ end, Quin, like I would do that. Not everything is about _him_ , you know,” Obi-Wan protested defensively.

Quin gave him a wicked look. “Oh, right…‘cause you don’t do that with me. You, my friend, are such a _liar_. _Everything_ is about him.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “Consider yourself privileged, then,” he retorted, taking another drink and looking around. He ordered another round and handed Quin his shot. “My turn. To getting everything we want!”

“Everything we want! Yes!” Glasses clinked and wrists flicked the pale blue contents of the shots into open mouths.

Quinlan motioned the bartender to leave the bottle with them. “OK, OK, my turn. To Padawans! May they always be hot and completely fuckable, only older next time!”

“Definitely older!” Another round of shots were put away.

Obi-Wan felt the warmth of the liquor begin to spread through his body. “You go—I can’t think yet.” He realized that not only couldn’t he think quite straight, but remaining on the bar stool was already becoming a bit of an exercise in balance.

A smirk lit up Quin’s face, a look that Obi-Wan knew meant something completely irreverent was about to pass from his lips. Quin didn’t disappoint.

“Hmmm…to Master Bates. May we not need his services tonight!”

“To Master Bates!” Obi-Wan blindly agreed, but then his face crinkled up in distaste as comprehension slowly dawned on him. “Quinlan Vos!” he exclaimed with just the right amount of mock outrage. “I have _never_ used his services! Must you always be so… _vulgar_?”

He gave Quin a cheeky smile. “I, myself, prefer to perform the _Jedi Hand Trick_.” Obi-Wan calmly reached over, poured another shot, and downed it.

The look on Quinlan’s face was priceless. Eyebrows raised, Quin leaned in and gave Obi-Wan a playful kiss and patted his cheek affectionately. “Now _there’s_ the Obi-Wan Kenobi I remember! Welcome back!”

Surprised by Quinlan’s enthusiastic sentiments, Obi-Wan could only nod. He forced a wide smile, determined to suppress his inner Sulky-Wan who threatened to come out and ruin the evening.

“It’s...good to be back.” Obi-Wan wondered briefly what Anakin would think of him, making crude jokes and carrying on in public like a horny Padawan. Would Anakin be surprised? Would he like it? Is this the way he wanted Obi-Wan to be?

_As if he’d even be thinking about you, old man. H_ _e'_ _s with_ _Padmé,_ _remember?_

Scowling, Obi-Wan went to pour another round, only to find they’d emptied the bottle already. He looked up and down the bar. “Where’s that bartender? We need a refill!” Obi-Wan was pretty sure he was slurring already, a sure sign he’d had plenty to drink. On the other hand, he was _still_ thinking about Anakin, so he’d clearly not had _enough_.

Quinlan waved off the bartender. “Whoa, my friend. I know you’d like to end up in the ‘fresher tonight, but not head first. Hey!” He raised his arm and gave a short wave. “That fucker Windu’s over there, probably cheating some Paddies out of their credits playing sabacc, or worse. Do you remember that year when we played strip poker with him?”

Obi-Wan's lip curled with disgust. “Force, Quin, I’d really like to forget that, if you please.”

Quin smirked. “Well, I’ll never forget it—it was the first time I saw that freckled ass of yours, and knew I wanted—ow! What was that for?” he whined, rubbing his arm.

“That, Vos, was to remind you that, _unlike_ you, I do not wish to remember every lewd thing I’ve ever done, much less revel in it. It was a regrettable evening, as I recall.”

Quin's dreadlocks swung as he disagreed. “Not so—that was the first time we were together, remember?”

“Exactly my point.”

* * *

“ _Anaaaaakkkiiin!”_

Choking on a mouthful of ale, Anakin turned just in time to get a face-full of soft dark hair as long slender arms wrapped around his neck. He stiffened reflexively, not immediately identifying his assailant, although he had to admit it felt pretty good to have _someone_ pressed up against him finally tonight.

“Er…hi? Umm…” The hair blob pulled away, allowing him to see the bright smile of one very tipsy Barriss Offee.

“Barriss!” Anakin looked her over, appreciating just how good his long-time friend looked in her fitted pinstripe pants and silk top that was cut conservatively in the front but, as he’d felt, was open in the back down to her waist. He’d always felt close to Barriss, but their timing had never been right. Any time they’d tried, it had ended in uncomfortable giggles. Now…well, he knew the reason why.

She wasn’t Obi-Wan.

Barriss gave him one last squeeze before letting go. “Anakin! How long have you been here? Are you alone? Have you seen anyone else? Where’s Ferus and Tru? Did you know they’re a couple now? How'd that even happen, you know? It's _so_ crazy out there—you _totally_ have to come with us! Come and dance! _Pleeeeease?_ ” she finished with a gulp of air, reaching up to smooth some of the more errant strands of hair out of her eyes.

“Stars, Barriss, slow down!” Anakin laughed, amused that the normally placid Healer Padawan could get so wound up after only a few drinks. “Where’s Aayla? And what have you been drinking?” he asked, looking around somewhat uneasily. Although they were all friends, he still felt a little shy around Aayla after the last Knights Out, but particularly because she was a Knight now, while he was _still_ just a Padawan.

In a sing-songy voice with breath that could easily intoxicate a rancor, Barriss proudly ticked off the drinks she'd had thus far. “Weeelll…some guys bought us Hapan Hangovers, then we did some Flaming Ewok shots with Master Luminara, then someone handed me a Blue Sith Lightning…and, oh, a Sarlacc Spit. Blech!” She made a face. “ _Don’t_ recommend that one!”

Anakin laughed at Barriss, pulling her down to the stool. “Sarlacc Spit? Blast, Barriss, what made you think…nevermind! So, where _is_ Aayla?” he asked again, taking a long pull from his ale.

She looked around the crowd. “She was right behind me! I don’t see her yet, but she’s kind of in a funk because we saw Master Vos with a _totally_ hot guy—Force, Anakin, you should see him,” she exclaimed with wide eyes and a smile that stretched her tattoos across her cheeks.

Anakin wasn’t surprised; Quinlan Vos was hot property and had a reputation with both the ladies _and_ the gentlemen. Actually, he was kind of shocked his Master hadn’t said anything about it; Obi-Wan was always grumbling about Vos’ sexual exploits, while Anakin loved to hear all the juicy details. _Obi-Wan’s jealous_ , he thought spitefully. _He's probably never had anything approaching an exploit._

_Probably._

“Well, who was it?” he asked, suddenly very interested and desperate to move away from any thoughts involving his Master and 'sexual exploits'. Anakin loved to gossip as much as the girls—fortunately they seemed to do all the dirty work for him.

“That’s just it—we don’t know! I mean, he seemed somewhat familiar, and yet not, you know? We only saw them from a distance—they were outside, actually—but he’s _hot_ and he’s built and he’s got this gorgeous hair…” Barriss explained excitedly, jumping up and down as she clung to Anakin’s arm.

Anakin was only half-listening, his mind wandering rebelliously to a certain Jedi with gorgeous hair of his own. Hair that begged to have long fingers comb through it while the owner of said hair was busy somewhere else, bringing Anakin to a staggering climax…

“Anakin! Did you hear me?”

 _Fuck!_ “Uhh...yeah. Hot guy with Vos…so what?”

She gave him a friendly nudge. “What is _wrong_ with you tonight? Did you have another fight with Obi-Wan?”

Anakin snorted, rolled his eyes, and turned around to face the bar. Barriss would make an excellent Healer someday, he noted, simply because she was so observant, even when three sheets to the wind.

Anakin felt her hand on his shoulder, patting it sympathetically. “Are you _ever_ going to tell him?”

He whipped back around to face Barriss, his eyes wide with shock. “Tell him what?”

The young woman smiled fondly. “Come on, Anakin. I know how you feel about him—I knew the first time I met you on Ansion. I could tell by the way you looked at him, how you talked about him, and, well, you just _suck_ at shielding.”

Anakin groaned, feeling the flush of warmth on his face. “Obi-Wan says my shielding is impressive— he gets totally pissed that he can’t poke around in my brain like other Masters can with their Padawans.”

With a toss of her head, Barriss stood up and poked a finger at his chest. “Yeah, well, I’m a Healer _and_ a girl—I know these things. Last time I looked, your Master was _aaaallll_ man!” she drawled, until it gave her a case of the giggles.

“What’s so funny?” Anakin scowled, feeling strangely defensive and awkward suddenly.

“You, dumbass. You’re at Knights Out, with a string of _completely_ indecent adventures here—don’t think I don’t know about you and Ferus last year!—and dressed to _kill_ tonight—do you even know how hot you look?—and you’re sitting her pouting at the bar. So you and Obi-Wan had a fight.” She shrugged, then gave him what could only be considered a naughty look. “Let’s go have some fun and then you can go home and kiss and make up. And I do mean _kiss_. Can I watch?” she asked with a wiggle to her eyebrows.

Anakin didn’t know if he should be embarrassed or turned on by the thought of Barriss _watching_ him with Obi-Wan. _Get a grip, Skywalker. Like that would ever happen._ “Blast, Barriss! Is there anything you don’t know or won’t say?” he said, flabbergasted.

Barriss opened her mouth to reply. Maybe it was just the ale Anakin had, or the charged atmosphere of the club, or just the _thought_ of kissing Obi-Wan that made him do it, but he suddenly found his lips crushing down on Barriss’.

“Well, it’s about damn time the two of you hooked up,” came the high-pitched lilting voice of Aayla Secura from behind them. “I thought you’d at least have the decency to take it private. I know _personally_ how much you like the ‘fresher, Sexy-Kin.”

Barriss pushed Anakin away roughly, her face red and flustered. “What the Sith was _that_? I thought we were _friends_ , Anakin. I’m nobody’s substitute, got that?” she yelled as she hit him in the chest.

Anakin was completely horrified. _What the hell did I just do?_ “Barriss, I-I—” But the young woman had already turned to leave, her hand offering him a galactic gesture that needed no translation. “Barriss!” he yelled after her.

“Anakin, let her go. Give her 10 minutes and a Corellian Crusher and she’ll be just fine.” Aayla reached over and punched him hard in the arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“What the _fuck_ do you think, honey? Since when do you go around making out with friends? OK, other than me, but then, I’m the exception to so many rules…” she said, stroking her wildly adorned lekku suggestively.

Anakin pushed his earlier fears aside—obviously Aayla didn’t hold any regrets over last year. Even if he had Obi-Wan on the brain, it was hard not to appreciate Aayla’s lack of…subtlety. Dressed in lavender hot pants and a matching tank, it was obvious what Aayla was all about tonight. _No wonder I ended up in the ‘fresher with her last year. Stars!_

Aayla’s eyes narrowed. “Barriss is your friend, asshat, and a good one at that. What’s wrong with you? Did you have a fight with Obi-Wan?”

 _Sith hells! Does everyone know?_ Anakin waved a hand at her dismissively. “Aayla, I swear, don’t start. I came here to _forget_ it. Is it so much to ask that I have a Kenobi-free evening?”

Aayla laughed and reached up to pat his cheek. “No, Sexy-Kin, but it isn’t like that’s even possible for you. All I know is if Obi-Wan Kenobi was _my_ Master, I wouldn’t be wasting my time here. I’d be home doing everything I could to get that sexy man in my bed!”

Anakin snorted and took a sip of his ale. “Now _that’s_ funny! The host of this bash _is_ your Master, and as I recall, isn’t tonight _the_ night for you and Vos?”

She rolled her eyes, mildly disinterested. “Oh…that. Yeah, Quinny thinks he’s going to get a piece of this Twi'lek tonight, but we’ll see.” Aayla looked around, her lekku swinging off her shoulders to the delight of several admirers. “I’m just not sure he’s that into me, Anakin. Besides, look around! It’s Knights Out—so many pretty possibilities. I just want to keep all my options open.” She took a sip of a purple gaseous drink that had been delivered as a gift from an admirer somewhere down the bar.

“Aayla, you’re something else. That sounds like something Vos would say.”

“Well, I learned from the best. Don’t get me wrong, Quinny’s definitely hot and I’ve waited a long time for him to make his move, but now there’s Kit and— ”

Anakin’s mouth gaped in surprise. “Master Fisto? You and Fisto? Isn’t he a little… _old_ for you?” Not that he’d know the aging cycle of a Nautolan any more than he did of the Twi'lek in front of him, but Kit Fisto was a Council Member, after all. That undoubtedly made him _old_.

“So says the Padawan lusting after _his_ much older Master. Obi-Wan _is_ hot, Sexy-Kin, in his ‘ _I’m-a-completely-repressed-Master’_ kind of way, but face it, he’s _old_ ,” Aayla said matter-of-factly.

“My Master is not old!” he cried defensively. _Repressed? Definitely._

“Come on, he has gray hair, Anakin! A sign of aging in you humans, right?” Aayla teased.

“Just a little. Besides, it makes him look…distinguished!” _And sexy. Force, so completely sexy._

Aayla just rolled her eyes, unconvinced. “I’ve heard he’s going to be named to the Council.”

“So will I!” Anakin said with a lift to his chin. “I’ll be the youngest Master ever named to the Council.”

Aayla’s eyes widened as she snorted out a laugh. “You’re so arrogant! You’re not even a _Knight_ yet.” she said incredulously, reaching over to yank his braid.

Anakin slammed his ale down on the bar. “Aayla, he’s not even in his forties! That’s _not_ old! He’s in the prime of his life, I’ll have you know. You should see him when he—”

Aayla gave up with a peal of laughter. “Force, Sexy-Kin, listen to yourself! See, I knew you couldn’t have a—what did you call it—Kenobi-free night. I should call you Lovey-Kin.”

Anakin groaned, embarrassed that he’d lapsed into gushing about his Master like a lovelorn boy. _Which is exactly what I am. Fuck._ “Please, can we just talk about _anything_ else? Tell me about Vos—Barriss said he was here. Have you see him yet?”

Aayla’s lekku twitched at the mention of her Master. “Hell yes, and he is in fine form tonight, damn him. I swear, now that I’m a Knight, and not living with him, he’s got somebody over there at all hours.” She took another sip of her drink and licked the rim of the glass, to the utter delight of many at the bar. “I knew Quinny was a big horny beast, but the sex parade is getting out of control, even for him. And now he’s got this hot new guy—Anakin, you should see him! He’s—” she exclaimed, her fingernails raking down Anakin’s chest in her excitement.

Anakin took one long last drink of ale, waving the bottle in the air at her. “Yeah, yeah. Hot guy. I’ll believe it when I see him. Don’t you think Barriss should have been back by now? Where do you think she went, anyway?”

Aayla pouted slightly, a look that was completely seductive on a Twi'lek, but was obviously lost on Anakin. Mildly frustrated with her inability to get the young man's attention, she gave up. “To the ‘fresher, I’m sure. You’d better go check on her, Kissy-Kin, before she does something stupid. You know how pouty Barriss can get.”

A memory of Barriss’ last birthday party flashed through Anakin’s mind. Barriss had perceived that no one was listening to her at her own party and that too many people were hooking up and leaving. She had stood on the bar and Force-threw drinks at her guests before telling them she hoped they all got the Intergalactic Clap. The night had ended in the ‘fresher with Anakin and Aayla holding back Barriss’ hair as she threw up and swore off all fruity drinks. He groaned again, recalling just how many fruity drinks she’d already consumed tonight.

“Kriff, you’re right. Good luck with hunting down Vos and his _friend_. They’re probably in the ‘fresher already—want me to take a look for you? Who knows, Aayla—maybe you can have them both?” he teased with a wicked grin.

Aayla gave a lascivious lick to her full, shimmery lips. “Oh, Sexy-Kin, you _know_ it!” she said, walking away with a wave and a sensuous swing to her hips.

Heading for the ‘fresher, Anakin couldn’t help but admire Aayla's attitude about _her_ former Master being in public with someone else. Not that it would ever remotely happen, Obi-Wan being Obi-Wan, but if he ever saw his Master in another’s arms, or worse, kissing someone… _I’d probably end up making a total ass out of myself, and Obi-Wan would be beyond furious. And the look…fuck, the look would be the worst._

 _Can you stop thinking about him for 5 minutes? Or long enough to get drunk? Or at least long enough to think about somebody else?_ he mentally whacked himself.

_Barriss, where the hell are you?_

* * *

“Helluva party, Vos!” Mace Windu shouted over the music, clapping Quin on the back. “Come on, we’re just starting another round.” Obi-Wan looked at the faces assembled around the table and just had to shake his head in wonderment. In addition to Mace sat Ki-Adi-Mundi, Luminara Unduli, and Master Yoda, who was adorned with what appeared to be an extremely over-sized _red_ Twi'lekkian headdress, complete with bells.

There could only be one explanation.

 _Oh dear Force, they’re playing Asshole_.

The last time Obi-Wan played this game with the Masters he’d been the Asshole for most of the game, having to bow to everyone’s demands as was the role of said Asshole in the game. As much as Obi-Wan could recall from that night, Mace had managed to be the President for most of the game, setting the rules for each round. For whatever reason, the Korun seemed to take great delight in creating inane rules that inevitably resulted in making Obi-Wan take a drink. Obi-Wan, of course, became completely intoxicated, and as Quin took great delight in retelling later, stood up at one point and told all the Masters _they_ were assholes and should go fuck themselves accordingly, before stumbling off to pass out under a tree in the Gardens.

No, he _definitely_ wasn’t going to play. By the glassy look of Master Yoda’s eyes and the way he somehow was actually making _sense_ , he’d been the Asshole most of the night, too.

“Masters, good evening,” Obi-Wan said, bowing slightly.

Mace looked at him a second before recognition dawned. “Obi-Wan Kenobi? By the fucking stars, _you’re_ at a party? _This_ party?” He twirled his finger in the air, cackling. “Turn around, would you? I didn’t even recognize you without that saber up your ass!”

Yoda tilted his head comically to the side, the bells on the headdress jingling as they caught the light. “Yourself you should fuck, Master Windu. Has a point, though, Mace does, Obi-Wan. Look like yourself, you do not,” the little green troll said, blinking several times and letting out what Obi-Wan could have sworn was a disgusting belch.

“I think it is a welcome change, Obi-Wan. Come, friend, take a seat over here,” Luminara patted the empty space next to her. “So what brings you out tonight? Did you have a fight with Anakin again?”

Obi-Wan stiffened defensively, then turned slowly to glare at Quin. Doing his best to look around nonchalantly, Quin finally gave up and just shrugged, giving him his best ‘ _What?’_ look.

“Quinlan…” Obi-Wan growled softly. “As a matter of fact, I’m here to actually have some _fun_. Thanks for the invite to the game, but I need to— ”

A hand on his shoulder pushed him down on to the chair. Obi-Wan looked up in surprise as a shapely leg covered in a thigh-high black boot stretched in front of his eyes and a long lithe body came to rest on his lap.

“Hello, Obi-Wan. It has been a long time, hasn’t it?” said a seductively low voice, as arms wrapped themselves around his neck and fingers began toying with the tie in his hair.

Startled, Obi-Wan found himself looking into the cool blue eyes of Siri Tachi. He found himself momentarily lost in the memory of those eyes, memory of a love he'd had a lifetime ago, as well as the pain he'd sworn to never experience again.

“Uh…hello, Siri? Uh…yes, it has been a long time.” How long had it been? He didn’t remember, but the sudden tightness of his pants indicated his body hadn’t forgotten completely.

“You look good, Obi-Wan, much too good,” she purred in a voice laden with intent, one long fingernail running along his jaw line, the other scratching a line down his back through the thin fabric of his shirt. Her eyes caught his again, smiling triumphantly as she felt his body's response. Leaning in close, her lips parted, ready to claim her prize for the evening.

Obi-Wan tilted his head receptively...and then turned his head aside. As much as he’d imagined this moment over the years, as much as he had longed for it, he didn’t want her, not anymore.

He wanted Anakin. And only Anakin. _Even if it means going home alone tonight. Which at this rate is a most assured conclusion._

Obi-Wan sounded bored as his eyes turned dark and cold. “I know, Siri—what, are you now regretting your decision?” he said sarcastically, patting her cheek with mock sincerity. “Now if you’re done riding me like a bitch in heat, kindly get _off_ me.”

To a chorus of low whistles and _“oohs”_ from around the table, the tall blonde slid off of Obi-Wan’s lap. Standing up, he made a show of running his hand down Quin’s arm and locking their fingers together. “Quinlan, let’s go. I _love_ this song,” he announced, walking away from the stares of the Masters and the fury he saw building in Siri’s icy glare.

When they were out of sight, Obi-Wan yanked his fingers away from his friend’s and let out a shuddered breath. Quinlan turned to him, bewildered. “Just what the hell was that? I thought you were looking for a good time—my friend, it doesn’t get much better than that! And since when do you _dance_?”

Obi-Wan felt his insides turn over as his momentary fit of courage fled like a skittish purri cat. “I _don’t_. But I had to get away from her. You know what she did to me, you were there, remember? Force, Quin, what did I ever see in Siri?”

Quin turned back to give Siri a long once-over. “Oh, I don’t know…long legs, kicking attitude, nice full round—”

Obi-Wan cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Nevermind. Why I asked you…” Putting a hand to his chin, he looked around, completely dismayed. “Quin, why am I still here? I should just leave. This is turning out to be a disaster.”

“Don’t even start with that crap, Pouty-Wan. Come on. After that show with Siri, you owe me a dance.” He grabbed Obi-Wan’s hand, pulling him towards the dance floor.

A look of horror crossed Obi-Wan’s face as he rooted his feet to the floor. “Oh no. I don’t think so. You _know_ I don’t dance! All those bodies, bumping and grinding and… _sweating_ …”

“Then, my friend, you haven’t had enough to drink, if you’re still mooning about Skywalker and fussing about sweating. You didn’t seem to mind sweating earlier tonight…” Quin trailed off with a licentious grin. He looked at his chrono. “Look, I have to go make an appearance, so why don’t you go get a drink, and then we’ll meet up for that dance. What do you say?”

 _Sulky-Wan says fuck you, Quinlan._ Obi-Wan offered his best fake Negotiator smile. “I don’t think there’s enough alcohol on Coruscant to make me dance, Quin, but I’ll certainly take you up on that drink.” He shooed his friend away. “Go—your public awaits, _Master_ Vos.”

* * *

Back at the table, Siri Tachi was seething. _No one_ made a fool out of her; certainly not her ex-lover, the one _she’d_ dismissed so easily when they were Padawans.

“Heh, Tachi, he sure got you,” Mace chuckled. “Face it, you’ve been replaced baby, and that sultry little number you did isn’t going to work on him anymore.” He cocked an eyebrow suggestively. “However, I can say it has a very good chance of working with me…”

Siri glared at him before turning back to scan the crowd for Obi-Wan. “You wish, Windu. Why don’t you go find someone else to rub your head—both of them,” she bit back.

Yoda held up his hand. “Stop, you both will. Master Tachi, your chance with Obi-Wan you blew.” He stopped, bringing a clawed hand to his mouth. “Say that, did I just?” he giggled, a disturbing noise on its own. “Belongs to another, his heart does. Know that, we _all_ do, why do you not?”

Siri whirled around to look at the table of Masters, all of whom had this terrible mix of looks on their faces, some amused, some pitying. “Who? Quinlan Vos?” she snorted, imagining such a thing. “Vos cares for no one more than his own cock. But Obi-Wan? _Riiight._ ”

Then out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a tall and completely _smoldering_ young man sauntering by, his perfectly shaped chest hugged by a deep blue shirt that matched eyes that were utterly too familiar. She unconsciously licked her lips in appreciation, even as she noticed that he wore the tell-tale braid.

That walk. Those leather pants. Those _lips._ She remembered those lips.

 _Anakin Skywalker_.

“It’s _Skywalker_?” she asked incredulously. “He’s in love with his own Padawan? How… _cute_ ,” she said with a sneer. She could hardly fault Obi-Wan’s taste—after all, had it not been for Luminara’s intervention last year, Siri would have given Obi-Wan’s great love a night to remember.

A wicked smile formed as a plan began to take shape. Perhaps it was time to finish up what she started a year ago. She imagined the look on Obi-Wan’s face when he saw her in his beloved, and decidedly _hot_ , Padawan’s arms, Anakin's lips devouring her neck, her hands roaming down across his… If she couldn’t have the Master, the Padawan was one hell of a consolation prize. That it would infuriate the normally implacable Obi-Wan Kenobi was simply an added bonus.

With a toss of her head and a determined look on her face, she headed off towards the ‘fresher.

_Anakin Skywalker, you are mine…_

 


	3. Can't Get You Out of My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on LJ, 2007.

**_"I just can't get you out of my head_  
 _Boy it's more than I dare to think about_  
 _Every night_  
 _Every day_  
 _Just to be there in your arms”_  
 _\--Kylie Minogue_  
  
**

_Barriss, where the fuck are you?_  

Anakin had crossed the throng of dancers _twice_ in search of his long-time and very drunk and pouty friend, and had endured more than his fair share of pinches, pokes, and—he couldn’t be sure about this but he’d swear it was a _tentacle_ —groping his ass.  It alarmed him to admit that not only had it been the most action he’d seen the whole night, but that it had, sadly, kind of turned him on. 

_'_ _You’d better go check on her, Kissy-Kin, before she does something stupid._ _'_   Aayla’s words echoed in Anakin’s mind as he stopped and surveyed the crowd yet again, pursing his lips in concentration.  He took a long drink from the second of two bottles of ale he’d swiped off of a tray on its way to some Master’s table.  The first one had disappeared in one long gulp—the second, he was proud to say, wouldn’t be far behind.  _So much for not getting drunk_ , he thought with a small hiccup.  He couldn’t find Barriss, but at least he’d stopped thinking about fucking Obi-Wan, and, well, _fucking_ Obi-Wan. 

_Well, that didn’t last long.  Fuck!_   He’d have to find more to drink.

_I seriously need to either get fucked or become like Obi-Wan,_ he thought miserably.  Of course, getting fucked _by_ Obi-Wan would solve both those issues.  He shook his head slightly, trying to purge that particularly annoying and yet persistent image from his mind.  He on his hands and knees in their quarters, or better still, pushed up against the wall, maybe in the Gardens, no—the Council Chambers, yes, the Council Chambers—his Master’s breath hot and insistent on his neck, large, experienced hands moving down to grip his—  

“Are you lost, baby?  Maybe I can help?” a soft voice purred in his ear, abruptly jostling Anakin out of his fantasy.  Feeling an arm—he hoped it was an arm this time—snake around his waist, he groaned with impatience. 

“Stang!  Listen, hands off, ok?” he started, grabbing at the arm and turning around…into the face of Master Siri Tachi.  Suddenly, the foggy images from last year’s Knights Out came sharply into focus.  _Siri’s_ _lips_ _on his, her tongue plunging into his mouth, her palm pressing hard against his cock…_

“M-m-master Tachi.  Um, hi.  Um… yeah.  I mean, no.  I mean I’m...uh…looking for my-my friend,” he managed to stutter out.  _Very smooth, dumbass.  Aayla would laugh her ass off if she heard you._

 “Whoever she is, let her go,” Siri said, waving her hand dismissively.  She smiled seductively as her hand slid up to stroke his cheek.  “How are you, Anakin?  I haven’t seen you much since last year.  You haven’t been avoiding me, have you?”

_Sith hell I have!  Obi-Wan would_ kill _me if he knew what almost happened._

Anakin licked his lips nervously as he continued to look around frantically for someone, _anyone_ , he knew.  Being near Siri was an invitation to disaster.  There were more than enough Masters around, especially that asshole Windu, who’d _love_ to rat him out to Obi-Wan and tell him all about how his Padawan was carrying on with his ex-… _whatever_ she was.  Siri was a legend all her own, a temptress, a sex kitten, a _man-eater_.  With her long legs, sun-kissed blonde looks, rosy lips, and a body with curves in _all_ the right places, she was the star of many an adolescent Padawan’s self-administered fantasies. 

Which made it all the more incredible that his _Master_ , of all people, had been involved with Siri.  Of course, Obi-Wan had never told him much, other than grudgingly admitting to an ‘ _illicit involvement’_ as a Padawan as part of some kind of lesson about the dangers of attachment or sexually transmitted diseases or having _fun_ or some other tenet of the Code that precious few of the Masters seemed to follow anyway, Anakin noted, as he looked around the club.  Furthermore, he found it hard to believe that Obi-Wan would allow himself to get _involved_ , period. 

He sighed inwardly.  He didn’t _want_ Siri.  But then again, he wasn’t about to tell her that.  He liked all his man parts where they were just fine, thank you.

“N-no, of course not.  I’ve just been b-busy, you know?  With missions and training and getting ready for the t-trials,” he stammered, as a manicured red fingernail trailed down his cheek and on to his chest.

She tilted her head a little and gave him a sly smile.  “Of course, darling.  Obi-Wan keeps you very busy, doesn’t he?  It must not be easy to be his apprentice, with all his rules, rules, rules,” she said slowly, petting his chest to emphasize each word.

Anakin couldn’t help but nod.  “My Master has high standards, yes.”  He again thought about how Obi-Wan would lose his mind if he knew his Padawan was in this den of debauchery.  But Anakin just _had_ to get away, away from the man who simultaneously frustrated him beyond belief and turned him on to a degree that in no way could be considered normal.

Siri laughed to herself as she watched Anakin stiffen at the mention of his Master’s name.  _Stars, he has it bad for Obi-Wan, too.  Oh, this is going to be fun.   Obi-Wan, you’ll never know what hit you.  Payback’s a bitch._   

“It’s no wonder you’re here every year.  It’s not like _Obi-Wan_ would ever understand.  I mean, can you imagine _him_ here?”  Siri laughed and pulled him closer, pressing her body up against his.  “He doesn’t understand people like us, Anakin.  We need to let loose, to have fun,” she said in a low voice, her breath light and feathery against his cheek, “and to _feel_ our emotions.”

“Obi-Wan?  _Here?_ ”  Anakin’s voice cracked from the heady combination of Siri’s nearness and the effects of the two ales he’d recently downed.  His defenses dulled, he heard himself laughing and felt his body responding to Siri, despite the inner voice that was shouting _Run! Run! Run!_   “Uh…no.  My master doesn’t understand…me.  Us.  I mean, people like us.”

Siri leaned in close, her lips grazing his ear softly.  “ _I_ understand you, Anakin.  Why don’t we go and find some…fun?” she suggested, nipping the lobe.

A shiver of excitement ran through Anakin, mixed with a little guilt and a whole lot of frustration.  What he really wanted was Obi-Wan.  He’d always wanted Obi-Wan.  But he also knew he could never _have_ Obi-Wan.  It was all so damn unfair—here was _Siri Tachi_ hitting on him, interested in _him_ , and he was worrying about his uptight sexless Master who was no doubt at home right now in slippers and a flannel robe reading the latest issue of _Jedi Home Journal_ for a new way to polish the ‘fresher tile, if he wasn’t meditating his way to a higher communion with the Force.

When Siri’s body pressed against him once more, Anakin's decision was made.  He’d have a higher communion of his own tonight, dammit, one that involved more alcohol, more fun, and definitely, _absolutely_ , his cock.  Yes, he’d find a higher communion that had nothing to do with the Force _or_ his Master and _everything_ to do with his cock. 

_This is_ _all_ _your fault Obi-Wan,_ a part of him thought miserably, only to be drowned out by loud music as Siri led him toward the dance floor. 

* * *

Arriving at the bar, Obi-Wan waved over the bartender.  “Just give me something…fruity, would you?”  He looked around, hoping that what had thus far served as a disguise—his lack of robes—was still working.  The entire Order didn’t need to know that The Negotiator, while sulking, preferred his drinks fruity with an ornate umbrella decoration.

The night was definitely _not_ going well.  In fact, the _whole day_ was not going well.  How had he let himself be persuaded to come to Knights Out?  Maybe he _was_ easy, like Quin said.  A good roll with Quinlan and suddenly he’s at the biggest hedonistic party this side of Zeltros?  One thing Obi-Wan knew for certain was that he had absolutely no intention of dancing with Quinlan Vos out in that sweaty throng on the dance floor.  There simply wasn’t enough alcohol on Coruscant.  Maybe not even in the Core.

When the bartender handed him the giant glass filled with a concoction that was orangey-brown and swirled with white and red streaks, he wasn’t disappointed.  Taking a sip from the pink straw, his eyebrows shot up from the influx of sweetness and alcohol.  He nodded his thanks to the bartender.  “It’s good—what is it?” he shouted across the bar.

The bartender, a non-human species with a strong Outer-Rim accent, shouted back.  “It’s a Nubian Ass Tea.”

The fruity concoction flew everywhere when Obi-Wan choked and spit it out.  “A _what?_ ”  _Nubian Ass Tea?_   _The Force_ hates _me. Of all the things to be drinking._

From the seat next to him, he heard giggles erupt.  “It’s a Nubian _Iced_ Tea, not _ass_ tea!”

_Iced Tea?_ He didn’t know if he should be relieved or not.  Quin was right about one thing—everything was about Anakin.  He would have sworn the guy had said _ass_ tea.  Nevertheless, it was Nubian, which made him think of Padmé, who was with Anakin, the two of them probably naked by now…

Sighing deeply, Obi-Wan swirled the straw through the colorful layers of the beverage.  Well, Nubian Ass Tea or not, it was still tasty alcohol, and he _needed_ more of it.  It would be the only way to get Anakin out of his head tonight.  At least he had to hope so—he wasn't sure if anything else could.

Even buzzed, Obi-Wan's manners had yet to leave him. Turning to offer his thanks, he belatedly thought that the voice, while slightly slurred, was also _very_ familiar.  He cringed inwardly and quickly swung his seat back to the bar when he realized it was none other than Anakin’s good friend, Barriss Offee. 

_Just what I need—she’ll go running straight to Anakin, telling him how his pathetic Master was downing frou-frou drinks alone at Knights Out.  Force willing, maybe she won’t recognize me._

“Um...ah, yes.  Thank you for that…clarification.  You seem to have been enjoying them?  I must admit it is a very flavorful combination,” he responded, as blandly as possible, before returning to contemplate taking another sip of his now-questionable beverage. “Once you get past its unfortunate affiliation with Naboo, ” he muttered.  _Maybe if I don’t look at her, she’ll go away?  Quinlan,_ _where_ _the hell_ _are you?_

Startling him, Barriss leaned over and bumped shoulders with Obi-Wan, giggling again.  “It’s _really_ good, isn’t it?  I’ve had, um…”  Obi-Wan watched in mixed shock and amusement as the attractive Padawan clumsily counted out on her fingers.  “Thwee.  Uh, no. Four.  Yes,” she bobbed her head emphatically, “four.  You should drink up—I heard Master Yoda lost his all his credits to Master Windu.” She lowered her voice, leaning in close and blowing sweet alcohol-tainted breath in his face.  “I heard it might involve a lap dance.  Is that _ewww_ or what?”

Obi-Wan blinked sharply, sitting back abruptly as his nose was assaulted by the intoxicating scent permeating Barriss’ aura.  He ran a hand quickly over his face as he tried to purge the revolting image from his mind.  “By the stars, it just never ends…” he mumbled wearily.  He looked up and gave Barriss a nod, tossing back his drink in a couple of quick gulps.  “Barriss, perhaps it would be best if you stopped—”

“Told you it was good!” she grinned, taking a handful of popcorn and munching loudly.  She cocked her head, looking at Obi-Wan’s profile with suspicion.  “How’d you know that’s my name?  Hey…do I know you?  You look sorta familiar.”

Obi-Wan reluctantly turned toward her as her hand fell on his shoulder.  “Wait!  You’re Master Vos’ mys-mys-mystery man!  Ooh!  I can’t wait to tell Aayla and An—”   Suddenly, her hand rose to clamp over her mouth, her eyes growing wide as recognition dawned.  

“M-m-master Kenobi?  _Holy_ _fuck_!  I-I mean, oh, _Force!_   I mean…uh…you’re _here_?  But you…you…I mean, you look…and Master Vos…and…” she trailed off in shock, her words failing her abominably.  Barriss winced, taking a huge gulp of her Nubian Iced Tea to stifle the rest of the banthas that apparently were more than willing to come charging out of her mouth.  She straightened up, trying feebly to brush aside the strands of hair that had stuck themselves to her drink-moist lips.

 Obi-Wan sighed heavily, shaking his head.  _It’s worse than I thought—not only does she recognize me, but this…this getup…it’s horrified the poor girl._   “Yes, Barriss, even _I_ do get out from time to time,” he said, squinting into the bottom of his sadly empty glass.  “Fucking Quinlan, I knew I looked the part of the idiot in these clothes,” he mumbled to himself. 

“All this fine alcohol, a beautiful woman, and you’re _still_ whining, Kenobi?”  Obi-Wan startled when Quinlan’s strong arms suddenly enveloped his shoulders from behind.  The Kiffar, ever the flirt, reached over to tuck a lock of Barriss’ hair behind her ear, a leer forming on his features as his eyes raked her over. 

“Why, Barriss Offee, where have you been all night?”  His fingers trailed casually down her face as he watched with feral satisfaction at the blush creeping across her tattooed cheeks.  “You look breathtaking this evening, sweetheart—what’s a hot young thing like yourself doing sitting alone at the bar with the likes of Kenobi here?”

Barriss looked up at the dark, roguish Jedi, her eyes starry and a little unfocused.  “Uh…M-master Vos… _hi_ …” she gushed, her eyes flying quickly to Obi-Wan and then back to Quinlan.   “I’m not alone.  Well, I mean, I’m alone _now_.”  She looked at Obi-Wan and winced.  “Oh, I’m sorry Master Kenobi, I didn’t mean it like that…” Flushed with embarrassment, Barriss clumsily reached over and grabbed a shot from the Padawan next to her, downing it quickly.  “Sorry,” she murmured, followed by loud hiccup.

Obi-Wan reached back and elbowed Quinlan sharply.  “Barriss, please forgive _Master_ Vos’ unseemly behavior.  He can’t help it—Luminara says it’s a genetic abnormality with no known cure.”  He looked up at the Kiffar, offering him a cheeky smirk.

Too late, Obi-Wan realized that was exactly the opening Quinlan was looking for, when Quinlan proceeded to hug him tighter and nuzzled his cheek.  “Oh, _honey_ , it’s not such a bad thing—after all, you like it when I talk dirty.”  He chuckled when he felt Obi-Wan’s warm blush against his cheek.

“ _Quinlan…”_ Obi-Wan growled.

An unmistakable high-pitched voice drawled over the hum of the crowd and throbbing beat of the music.  “ _There_ you are, Barriss!  This is what you’ve been up to, getting liquored up at the bar by strangers?”  Sauntering through the crowd that seemed to magically part around her, Aayla sounded indignant, but the saucy grin on her face said otherwise. 

“Oh honey, I’m so proud of you!” she squealed, hugging Barriss around the shoulders.  “I tell you, Barriss, there’s too many men, and not nearly enough time tonight.  Kinda makes a girl work up a thirst, you know?” she winked, then turned to lean over the bar, inciting a round of appreciative moans and craned necks as her petite, voluptuous frame stretched to get the bartender’s attention. 

“I’ve been in every damn ‘fresher stall in the place looking for you, hooker.  Holy shit, do you know how many there are here?  Honey, I’ve seen things…” her hand fluttered over her eyes, “I’ve seen things that no one _ever_ needs to see!  I didn’t see any evidence of any Dark Side, but I saw hell of enough of the backsides of this Order to last me a lifetime.  Freaky kinky-assed Masters—would you believe Jocasta Nu’s a fucking _dominatrix_?”  She giggled as Barriss’ mouth fell open in shock.  “Yeah, that’s right—the librarian gets her kink on with leather and whips.”  The Twi'lek shook her head in amazement.  “What that woman can do with a whip.”

With a tall, silvery Mandalorian Mindwipe in hand, she slid off the bar, smoothing a hand over the front of her lavender tank.  “Why’re you so quiet?”  She peered into Barriss’ eyes suspiciously, and then laughed.  “You’re not still mad, are you?  Come on, he didn’t mean anything by it—he’s just, you know, _in love_ , and that makes him act like Jackass Jedi.  Have you seen him?  What about Quinny and his mystery man?”  She stopped when Barriss pointed surreptitiously over Aayla’s shoulder, her eyes growing wide with alarm.  “What?  Is he around?”

“Right behind you, sweetheart.”

Aayla swung around, surprised, her lekku flying and nearly taking out Barriss and two unsuspecting Padawans nearby.  “Quinny!  I’ve hardly seen you tonight!”

Quinlan grinned and stroked his chin thoughtfully.  “Well, I’ve been busy, you know, with my—how did you say it— _mystery man_.”  A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.  “But don’t you worry, Aayla.  There’s more than enough Quinny to share, but I’m saving my best for you.”

Aayla rolled her eyes, turning up her nose.  “Oh, you think so?  Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”  She looked down and pretended to regard her nails with great interest.  “I heard Kit might be coming after all— _he_ knows how to treat a lady.”  She pushed her former Master aside, proffering a hand to his companion.  “Hi honey, I’m sorry that Quinny has absolutely no manners whatsoever.  I’m Aayla.  And you are?”

Obi-Wan reluctantly moved out from behind Quinlan’s broad shoulder, taking Aayla’s small blue hand in his.  “I’ve been apologizing for him for years,”  he said, raising his head and running his other hand through his hair nervously.  He offered her an embarrassed smile.  “Obi-Wan Kenobi.  I think perhaps we’ve met, Knight Secura.”

Aayla froze in shock, looking back and forth from Obi-Wan to Quinlan.  “Master Kenobi?  _You’re_ Quinlan’s hottie?”  She looked at Quinlan incredulously.  “Come on, Quinny.  You’re totally fucking with me, aren’t you?”  Aayla turned to Barriss, who only rolled her eyes and took another sip of her drink, and then back to Quinlan.  “Shut. _Up_.”

_Oh, this night just gets better and better,_ Obi-Wan thought, wondering just what _else_ could possibly go wrong.

“Aayla, you need not worry, I’m merely Quinlan’s—“

“Date.  My _date_.”  Quin turned to Obi-Wan, pulling him close.  “No need to deny the truth, Obi-Wan.” 

Aayla face broke out into a huge, suggestive grin.  “Mmm… _damn_ , Master Kenobi, but the younger guys don’t have anything on you.”  She took a sip of her drink, licking the sugary foam from her upper lip.  “Too bad you’re already spoken for, isn’t it?” she said lightly, flicking a look over to an increasingly flushed Barriss.

Obi-Wan reddened, stammering out his words.  It was bad enough that both Barriss and Aayla thought he was somehow Quinlan’s _hottie—_ a vulgar term in itself—but it was all the more embarrassing that here he was, a _Master_ and a future _Council Member_ , and he was reduced to babbling by an inebriated Padawan and a cheeky new Knight.  “Sp-spoken for?  Oh, no.  Quinlan and I…it’s not like that…”

Aayla chattered on excitedly, waving away Obi-Wan’s meek protests.  “Does Anakin know about, um, the two of you?  He’s never said anything and he _loves_ to talk about—”  She cut off when the sharp point of a dress shoe bit into her calf.  Aayla turned to Barriss, mouthing “ _What?_ ” to her friend, before turning back to Obi-Wan with a forced smile.

Barriss stood up, swaying, and yanked on one of Aayla’s lekku.  “Aayla, we, uh, need to, uh…go.  ‘Fresher.”  She yanked harder, grabbing Aayla’s shoulder with her other hand.  “To the ‘fresher.  _Now_.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot up.  “Anakin?  No, of course Anakin doesn’t know anything— _there’s nothing to know!_ ”  He put a hand over his mouth and closed his eyes, momentarily entertaining the fantasy of throwing himself upon his lightsaber and wondering if that would be less humiliating.  “Quinlan, please, tell them, would you?”

“Hey, if that’s the way you want to play it, _snookums_ ,” Quin cooed, rubbing Obi-Wan’s back affectionately, trying, but failing, to look affronted when Obi-Wan scowled.

Aayla smirked, licking her lips provocatively.  “ _Right_.  Well, we’ll leave you two _alone_ then.”  She gave them an exaggeratedly sweet smile.  “Maybe I’ll see you later, Quinny.  If, you know, you’re not too tired.  Or if Kit doesn’t find me first.”  She blew a kiss at her former Master and linked arms with Barriss, leading her away from the bar.

“We have a deal, sweetheart!” he called.  “Forget about the Nautolan—he clashes with your skin, anyway!”  Quinlan bit his lip, and blew out a breath as he watched them go. “Damn, she just gets hotter and hotter, doesn’t she?  Shit, and what I couldn’t do with her _and_ Barriss.”

Obi-Wan shrugged Quin’s arms off of his shoulders roughly, watching as the young women blended into the crowd.  “As _if_ Luminara would let you anywhere near her,” he mumbled.  “By the stars, was all that really necessary?  I am well aware of your deviant predilections when it comes to the youth of the Order—you’ve made quite a legend of yourself, one which I have no doubt you are highly proud of—so you need not fill me in, thank you very much.  And I _certainly_ don’t need the whole Order thinking we are together!” he finished in a huff.

Quinlan crossed his arms, waiting for Obi-Wan to finish.  “OK, first off, I don’t think you cared if the whole Order heard you when we _were_ together earlier, Obi-Wan.  And second, I don’t think you care if the Order knows shit about shit—all you’re worried about is Barriss running off to blab her big mouth—and sweet fucking Force, the things I bet she can do with that mouth—to your boy.”

Obi-Wan turned around slowly, his green eyes glaring into Quinlan’s.  “I would think,” he said quietly, “that it would be most detrimental to your seduction attempts for your _girl_ to think we are together, Quinlan.”

Quin shrugged and grinned knowingly.  “You don’t know Aayla like I do—she was my apprentice, remember?  She learned from the best,” he boasted proudly.  “She likes a good challenge, and if she thinks I’m with you, well, lets just say a little competition _motivates_ Aayla.”  He smirked at his friend, running a hand down Obi-Wan’s arm. 

“Hey, like it or not, Obi-Wan, you’re a fucking hot commodity.  No one’s been in those pants of yours in years, as far as anyone _else_ knows.  I, of course, have been in them so many times that they’re kinda like a second home to me.  _What?_ ” he whined, when Obi-Wan grunted with disgust and looked away. 

“Anyway, if  _I_ happened to be the one to loosen the laces, well…I think it speaks well of my… _talents_ , don’t you think?”  Quin flashed a wide grin, all teeth, at his friend.  “Maybe it would work the same on Skywalker, if he heard you actually _knew_ what your cock was for?  I could arrange that, you know?” he offered with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Obi-Wan just stared for a moment, completely flabbergasted at his friend’s audacious logic.  “The way your mind works…there’s the Light Side, the Dark Side, and then there’s the Vos Side.  Quite possibly the most dangerous and frightening of them all.  The Sith have nothing on you.”  He frowned, pursing his lips.  “I’m sure Anakin’s… _needs_ …are being more than adequately met by his Nubian Nightmare,” he spit out bitterly.

Quinlan threw his head back and roared.  “If only your students could see this _very_ mature side of prim and proper Master Kenobi—how he’s following the well-known ancient tenets of the Code: ‘ _A Jedi Shall Have Unbridled Jealousy’_ and ‘ _A Jedi Shall Defame All Busty Nubian Senators That May Be Fucking My Padawan.’_ ”

Obi-Wan clapped slowly.  “Really, Quinlan, you do amuse, don’t you?”

“Come on, that was funny!” he said with mock indignance, checking the dance floor for any sign of Aayla and, well, _anyone_.  He didn’t see his former Padawan, but his eyes settled on something far more interesting. 

He tugged on Obi-Wan’s hand.  “Come here, Sulky-Wan.  Ol’ Quinny’s got something to show you.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.  “Seriously, Quin, I _know_ you’ve got better pick up lines than that.  You don’t seriously think I believe that one works?  Although, considering the source, perhaps it does,” he quipped, reluctantly allowing his friend to drag him away from the bar.

“Trust me, you’re gonna want to see this.”  Quinlan nodded and smiled to various Jedi as he moved them slowly through the thick crowd on the way to the dance floor.

“I do believe I’ve seen it before.  Earlier tonight, in fact.  As I recall, it’s not nearly as impressive as it once was,” Obi-Wan gibed blithely.

Quin looked over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow and a cocky smile.  “Hey now, I hear no complaints when you’re all ‘ _Yes, Quin!  Fuck me hard, Quin! Grunt-grunt-grunt I love your huge cock, Quin!’_ ”

Obi-Wan smacked him hard.  “Quinlan Vos, I have _never_ said that!”

“Well, OK, so I added on the ‘ _I love your huge cock’_ part.  But,” he winked, “you and I both know you do!”  He pulled Obi-Wan close and began to sway to the music.

Obi-Wan stiffened and shifted about, pushing at Quin for a little less...contact.  “You know I hate dancing like this.  It’s too hot and,” he sniffed the air, wrinkling up his nose, “a dead tauntaun likely smells better.  Please.”

Quinlan pulled him even closer, his lips close to Obi-Wan’s ear.  “Shut it, and stop complaining.  Look to my nine, about three couples over.  Believe me, it’s worth it.”

“Quin, come on, let me go.  Is it Aayla?  Because honestly, I’m not interested in some adolescent game of ‘pat my ass’ in order to make her jealous.  You’ll have to find some other accomplice—” Obi-Wan’s words cut off as he gripped his partner's shoulders tighter, staring in disbelief.

“See it now?”

“What in the bloody fucking _hell_ is that?” Obi-Wan exclaimed, barking out a laugh.  “Stang, Siri has truly outdone herself this time—I mean, this one’s just a boy.  And look at the way they're carrying on—she's going to eat him alive.”  He patted Quinlan’s bare shoulder excitedly.  “I can’t tell who it is—can you?  Don’t tell me it’s Ferus?” 

“As if you’re one to talk about having indecent thoughts for your own Padawan, Lusty-Wan.”  Quinlan snorted, then held up a hand against Obi-Wan’s protest.  “I know, I know.  I’m no better.  Now let me see.”  Quinlan swung them around to get a better look. 

“You’re feeling better, aren’t you?  I told you, all you needed was a good fuck, provided by _me_ , a couple of drinks, provided by _me_ , and a good party, also provided by _whom_?  Oh, that’s right, _me_.  I told you you’d forget all about Sky…walker…” Quinlan gulped and his face froze momentarily when he got a good look at Siri’s partner. 

There was Skywalker, stupid shit-eating grin and all, giving him the 'thumbs up' and raising his eyebrows in apparent approval at Quin and his companion.  _Well, I gotta give it to the kid—he’s not only picked the hottest ticket in the place, but the best way to stick it to Kenobi,_ _too,_ _and I’d bet he has no fucking clue his Master’s here, either.  Stupid shit.   This’ll be worse than the time Obi-Wan found Qui-Gon, Mace, and Tahl together—it took a lot of fucking blowjobs and a trip to a Falleen masseuse to get him over that one._

“Uh, nah, no one we know.  Probably a…a…waiter.  Or a…a…cook.  I mean, who cares, really?” he said hastily, struggling to block Obi-Wan’s view.  “Hey, yeah, you’re right, let’s get out of here.  Quinny here has just what you need, you just gotta come and get it,” he said, suggestively pressing himself against Obi-Wan.  Quin nipped at his chin, swiping his tongue over both lips.  “Come on, the ‘fresher calls” he said with a wink and a leer, tugging at Obi-Wan’s arm. 

Obi-Wan pulled back, distracted, struggling to see around Quinlan to get a good view of Siri.  “What are you on about now?”  He looked at Quinlan suspiciously.  “Yes, I’m feeling better than I have all night, but really, the ‘ _fresher_?  I’m certainly _not_ going into any filthy ‘fresher like most of your conquests are so willing to do with,” he made his voice high-pitched and breathy, “ _Master Vossss_.” 

He tugged on his friend, moving them closer to Siri.  “Honestly, Quinlan, I can’t really see much when she’s got her tongue jammed down his throat like that.  Come on.”  Obi-Wan winked at him wickedly.  “This is right up your alley.  It’ll be fun…” he cajoled, dragging an extremely reluctant Quin along with him.

Emboldened by several shots and one fruity Nubian Ass, er, Iced Tea, Obi-Wan stumbled clumsily over to Siri, reaching over and tapping her shoulder.  “Master Tachi, surely he’ll last longer if you let him breathe.  Really Siri, trolling the crèche for victims now, are we?  He’s a little young, even by your most _generous_ standards, you must admit.”  

Pulling playfully on the boy’s Padawan braid, he cleared his throat with what he hoped was some kind of intimidating authority, or as much as he could muster while happily drunk and ensconced comfortably in Quinlan’s arms.  He put his hand over his mouth, unsuccessfully stifling the sniggers of delight he felt at being able to harass Siri like this—especially after her contemptible display with him in front of the Masters earlier.

“Padawan, as a General of the Republic and a Jedi Master, though of course not _your_ Master, but as a _Master_ ,” he began, shouting over the loud pounding music and swaying rather precariously forward towards the boy, “I do feel it is my duty to inform you that this…this…Master _Trampy_ , I mean, Master _Tachi_ , is by no means an appropriate consort for one such as your young self.”

Anakin felt the tug on his braid, and through his alcohol- and lust- laden fog, swore that he heard _Obi-Wan’s_ voice.  He groaned into Siri’s warm mouth, eagerly accepting her tongue again, forcing the voice out of his mind.  _No thinking of Obi-Wan.  Siri, think of Siri, dumbass.  Her hand’s on your cock, for Sith’s sake!  In public.  Obi-Wan would never do that._ Anakin felt himself harden more at that thought.  _Would he?  Has he?_   _Dammit, no more Obi-Wan_!  He pulled Siri closer, his hand petting her ass over her tight skirt.

Siri gave Obi-Wan a satisfied smirk as she pulled away from her boy toy’s wet mouth, licking his kiss-swollen lips one last time before turning him around.  “Anakin, baby, look.  It _is_ your master.  Hello, Obi-Wan.”  She ran a hand down the back of Anakin’s sweat-darkened shirt, resting it on the small of his back possessively.  “Apparently he _does_ go to Knights Out, after all.  Who knew?  You were saying, Obi-Wan?” she smiled demurely.

 “ _Anakin?”_

Anakin gaped and blinked, certain his last shot had to have been laced with glitterstim and he was therefore hallucinating.  His Master, _Obi-Wan_ _Kenobi_ , was not only at Knights Out, but appeared to be… _socializing_.  Without his robes.  Or a protocol droid, for that matter.  _Fuck!  Now I’m hallucinating him?  In tight pants and a shirt that hides nothing?  I’m losing it._

 “Oh, this is… _awkward_.  You didn’t know the other was here?  And here I’d always been told you two were so close,” Siri purred, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Uh, so not helping, Siri…”  Quin said under his breath with a shake of his head.

“ _What_ are you doing here, Anakin?  You said you were going out with…with…” Obi-Wan gestured to the air helplessly.

“The Nubian Nightmare?” Quinlan offered helpfully.  Obi-Wan glared at him.  “What?  Hey, your words, my friend, not mine.”

“Padmé,” Anakin said defiantly, “her name is _Padmé_ , and…and…”

Obi-Wan felt the anger and hurt wash over him in a torrent.  “And you _lied_.  You lied to me Anakin, like some petulant child who didn’t get his way!”

Siri stroked Anakin’s back, squeezing his bicep.  “Now Obi-Wan, don’t be so upset.   Anakin and I were just getting reacquainted...after last year.”  She raked her eyes over his chest and back to Obi-Wan.  “I’d hardly call your Padawan a child.  He’s _all_ grown up now—I’m surprised you haven’t, er, _noticed_.”  She pressed up against Anakin’s side, running her fingers over his ear and down his braid. “I most certainly have.”

Anakin felt the familiar anger and frustration surge through him at being dismissed as a child by Obi-Wan.  “I’m an _adult_ , Master, a Commander of the Republic and nearly a Knight, not that you’d ever bother to acknowledge it.  OK, so I lied, but you’d never have let me come otherwise—admit it!  What are you even doing here anyway? You hate this kind of thing, and it’s not like you have a date—”  His words trailed off when he realized just _where_ Obi-Wan was, and with _whom_.  _Obi-Wan…and Master_ Vos _? No, it can’t be, they’re friends, they’re just...friends?_ The implication sent a jealous stab to his heart.

“ _Don’t have a date?”_   Obi-Wan was furious at the assumption, more so because it was so painfully true.  “Just because I’m your Master, a job that has taken most of my adult life, I might add, and given me more gray hair than anyone my age, does not mean I don’t occasionally want to _have fun_.  I’m here, and I’m _having fun_ , and yes, Quinlan is my date, I’ll have you know, and we are…we are having _fun!_ ” he shouted defensively.

Anakin blinked and cringed, not sure if he was hurt more by the attack or by the fact that his Master was, it seemed, actually _with_ Master Vos.  “I’m sorry, Master—I didn’t realize that insulting me and _my_ date provided such _fun_ for you,” he shot back angrily.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened in disbelief, too stung and too inebriated to stop the words before they charged out.  “Your _date_?  Anakin, she’s not interested in _you_ , she’s just trying to get back at _me_.  Surely you didn’t think…”  He snorted with contempt.  “Of course you did.  Oh, Anakin, I’m truly sorry to inform you otherwise, but your _date_ is no better than a common whore.”

Quinlan shook his head.  _Oh, fucking hell.  Here we go._

Anakin’s eyes narrowed, his mouth opening in outrage.  “You’re…you’re…just jealous, because Siri is with me and not you!”

Obi-Wan’s chest heaved as the music pounded around him and the lights swirled and played with the colors that danced across Anakin’s face.  He’d never felt more angry, nor more jealous, than he did at that moment.  Never mind that Anakin was _right_ , if for the wrong reason.  “ _Jealous_?  Please, let me disabuse you of your delusions of grandeur.”  

Impulsively, he reached up and grabbed a handful of Quinlan’s dark dreadlocks, tugging his mouth down to his own, kissing him long and hard, his tongue dancing wantonly into Quinlan’s open mouth.  After a few moments, he sloppily broke off the kiss and turned back to Anakin with a smug, satisfied curl to his lip.

“Obi-Wan, what the—” Quin started, only to be cut off by a sharp, painful squeeze of his fingers.

Siri clicked her tongue.  “Hmm…yes, not jealous _at all_ ,” she snickered quietly.

“We will talk about this tomorrow, Padawan.  I suggest you enjoy your evening with your _date_ —after tonight, I wouldn’t expect that you’ll have much time for any further fraternization.  With anyone.”  He turned abruptly and pulled the Kiffar with him, stalking away through the crowd.

Anakin felt the jealousy and anger surging through him, but he refused to give Obi-Wan the satisfaction of losing his temper.  “Yes, _Master_ ,” he said through gritted teeth as he watched them leave.  “I can’t believe him!  I wish…I wish… Why is he even _here_?” he seethed, his hands clenching and unclenching in frustration. _Obi-Wan is_ with _someone, and he tells_ me _I can't be with someone? Oh fuck no._

“He’s just trying to control you, darling.  Is there anything I can do,”  Siri pressed against him, running a hand over his ass and squeezing it as she nuzzled his cheek, “to make you feel better?” she asked, ghosting her lips over his set jaw. 

She looked up into his angry blue eyes, seeing the hurt and jealousy burning there.  _Oh, my poor little Anakin.  Obi-Wan, you did all the work for me._ Giving him a sultry stare, she licked her lips and brought one of his hands to her mouth, slowly sucking in one of his fingers.

Anakin felt his anger abate when he felt Siri’s tongue on his finger and her hand on his ass.  _Holy fuck—who wouldn’t be jealous of this?_ he thought, looking down at Siri’s red lips wrapped around his finger, groaning as he imagined those same lips wrapped around his cock.  A fleeting image crossed his mind, not of Siri on her knees for him, but of Obi-Wan, Anakin’s hands twisting in his Master’s hair… Anakin involuntarily moaned and bit his lip.  _I don’t want Obi-Wan.  I_ don’t _.  Ok, I do, but I’m mad, and I don’t want to want him.  He’s a pompous fucking ass.  Whose ass I want to be fucking.  Fuck!  This has to stop._  

Forcing himself to look happy—and really, if he just concentrated he was sure he could be—he slowly, seductively, slid his finger out of Siri’s mouth.  “As a matter of fact, there is.  I really, really need something to drink.”

_And I really, really hope it helps._ He looked at Siri’s ass as she led the way to the bar.  _A good fuck wouldn’t hurt either.  At this point I’d take a bad fuck._ Any _fuck.  Anything to get Obi-Wan out of my head._

He sighed, wondering if that was even possible anymore.

* * *

Obi-Wan blew out a frustrated breath as he and Quinlan stepped outside onto one of several semi-private balconies the Outlander had.  Semi-private, as near as Obi-Wan could deduce, merely meant that large pots of topiary from a host of worlds populated the concrete space, providing the illusion of privacy.  The illusion was shattered, however, when he heard a Barabel’s predatory hiss and a Wookiee’s mating howl.  _Force save me_ , he thought, wiping a hand over his face before leaning his arms over the railing.  He hung his head, letting the cool breezes blow through his hair.

“I cannot believe him.  He lied to me!  He lied, and he’s here, and he’s making a complete ass out of himself with _her_ ,” he said, his body shaking slightly with the anger and hurt still resonating through him.

Quinlan joined him at the rail, leaning against his friend’s shoulder.  He nodded sympathetically.  “Yeah, so Skywalker’s here, and he said he’d be somewhere else.  Big fucking deal, Obi-Wan.”  Quin turned to face him, poking his shoulder gently.  “What are you going to do about it?”

“Do about it?  What am I going to do about it?” Obi-Wan scrubbed his hands over his face wearily. “I should, I should…”

“You should what?”

Obi-Wan thought of Anakin.  Anakin with Siri so comfortably draped all over him.  Anakin’s defiant words that were betrayed by the hurt look in his eyes at Obi-Wan’s scathing comments.  _He doesn’t want me here, and Force help me, I don’t think I can stand to see them together again, either._  

“I should...never have come here.” He stood up, folding his arms protectively across his chest.  “Please Quinlan, just...just take me home.”

“What?  Skywalker, the boy you’ve been mooning over since for-fucking- _ever_ , is here, _with Siri_ , and you want to go home?  No.  Nuh-uh,” Quin refused, shaking his head.  “No way.”

“No?  What do you mean, no?  I said I wanted to go home, and I mean it.  I’m not going to stay here and be made to watch that…that… _that_!  With them!”  Obi-Wan shouted, pointing in towards the party angrily.  He pulled away from the railing and started to head for the door.  “Come on, we’re leaving.”

Quinlan grabbed his shoulder, whirling him around.  “No.  _I_ am not leaving, Obi-Wan.  I’m the host, and as the host, I cannot leave, and as the host, I am insisting that you cannot leave, either.  Besides,” he said with a quick kiss to the cheek, “you’re my date, remember?  How would it look if my date left me?”

“I’m sure you’re reputation will survive,” Obi-Wan said hotly.  “You cannot order me about like some kind of idiot youngling!  I am bloody well leaving!”

“Obi-Wan, listen to me!  You know Siri.  You _know_ what she’s like.  Skywalker’s in way over his head.  Look at him—you said it yourself, she’s gonna eat the kid up!”  Quinlan laughed, and then pulled Obi-Wan back to him gently.  “Listen, I know how you feel about him.  We _all_ know how you feel about him.  I’m willing to bet you he might just feel the same.”

Obi-Wan stared at his friend incredulously.  “Just how much have you had to drink?  Did you not just see them in there?  Didn’t you hear what he said?”

“Yeah, I heard what he said, but I heard what _you_ said too, Petty-Wan.”  He held Obi-Wan’s chin with his fingertips and grinned knowingly.  “What I witnessed was, I think, an escalation of the ongoing Kenobi-Skywalker courtship.  You hurt him, he hurt you, you’re both heated up, so go home and _fucking do it already!_   I’ll even bring the wine, and I promise not to touch,” he joked, trying to lighten his friend’s increasingly dark mood.

 Obi-Wan snorted contemptuously.  “What a sacrifice you’re offering, Quin—I never knew you were such a giver.”  He shook his head, looking pensive as he spied the Temple across the District in the distance.  “There is nothing between us, and there never will be,” he muttered.  “How could there be?  Anakin is young, he’s attractive, and he doesn’t want an old man like me.”

Quinlan rolled his eyes.  “Stang, do I hear fucking violins?  ‘ _Anakin is young, he’s attractive, and he doesn’t want an old man like me,’_ ” he imitated in his best ' _I’m a_ _pompous_ _whiny ass_ _'_ voice.  “Nothing between you two?  _Riiiight_.  And I’m a fucking eunuch and this is a fucking prayer meeting,” he chuckled, shoulders shaking.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but laugh at the image of a _holy_ Quinlan Vos.  “Now there’s an image I’m likely never to forget.”  His green eyes looked up and pleaded with Quin’s dark ones.  “Please, as my friend, just let me…let me go home.”

Quinlan growled his reluctant agreement, pulling Obi-Wan into a one-armed hug.  “Alright, alright.  But come have one more drink with me?  _Then_ Sulky-Wan can go home and put on his fuzzy slippers, OK?”

Obi-Wan shot an exasperated look at the other Jedi, but nodded.  “ _One_ more drink, and then I’m putting this miserable excuse for a night behind me.  Lead the way, Eunuch Vos.”

_One more drink. Please let it be enough for me to forget Anakin, too._

* * *

_Now this is more like it_ , Anakin thought with satisfaction, as Siri’s tongue traced a line from his collarbone to his ear, ending with a bite far gentler than her reputation allowed.  When her tongue dipped into his ear, he threw back his head, just about forgetting about Obi-Wan, their fight, all of it.

Siri offered him another shot from a passing waiter’s tray and he downed it quickly, sloppily wiping his lips with the back of his hand.  “Mmm… got another one there?”

_Oh, kitten, you should have listened to your Master.  I play to win, and you’re the prize tonight_ , she thought, a wicked grin curving up her lips.  “Oh, I don’t know, Anakin,” she said coyly.  “I’m not sure your Master would approve.” 

Anakin shook his head slowly, the three shots he’d already had going straight to his brain. And, he realized with a drunken smirk, his groin.  “Don’t talk ‘bout him,” he slurred.  “Doesn’t matter—I do what I want,” he said slowly and emphatically, thumping his own chest.  _Stupid rules.  Stupid Obi-Wan.  Stupid party._

Siri pulled a stumbling Anakin to his feet, leading him off towards a shadowy alcove of the club.  “Yes, you do, don’t you?” she cooed, leaning in to suck on his pouting lower lip.

“Well then, I have just the thing to make you forget all about Obi-Wan Kenobi, baby.”

 


	4. Add It Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on LJ, 2007.

“ _ **Why can't I get just one fuck? I guess it's got something to do with luck. But I**_ _ **'ve**_ _ **waited my whole life for just one.”**_ _~Violent Femmes, “Add It Up.”_  
  
  
“Slow down, I totally just knocked Master Koon's drink out of his hand, Barriss!” Aayla whined, tripping once more when the heel of her fringed white stiletto boot caught on the edge of the carpet. “Barriss, stop!” she yelled again, bending down to free her heel.  
  
Barriss turned abruptly, her hair fanning out behind her, cheeks flushed and breath coming in short pants. “Come _on_ , Aayla! We've got to find him before they do!”  
  
“Who? Anakin? _Please_. The best thing for that boy, and for his _fine_ master—did you _see_ that man, 'Rissy?— would be for them to find each other.” Aayla lifted her arm and leaned provocatively against a pillar, her other hand running slowly down the length of one of her lekku as she scanned the crowd.  
  
Barriss stared at her Twi'lek friend with annoyance. “You can't be serious? Anakin's going to completely lose it if he sees Obi-Wan and Quinlan together. He _loves_ Obi-Wan—you know that! How would you feel if you found out something like that by surprise, _here_ , of all places?”  
  
“Sith, Barriss, I _did_ find out here!” Aayla shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Honey, those two are no more ' _together_ ',” she said, curling her fingers in the air, “than you and me are. Quinny suddenly serious? No way. Are they fucking? That _wouldn't_ surprise me—I mean, they've been friends forever, Quinny'll fuck just about anything with a Force-signature, and come on, you've known Obi-Wan for as long as I have—no one can stay that repressed for that long, living with Sexy-Kin, so you do the math. Two horny guys, one not getting any and needing to keep it a secret?” She nodded her head emphatically. “Yeah, _totally_ fucking.”  
  
She slowly ran her tongue over her glossy upper lip while the image played out in her mind. “Damn hot thought, though, isn't it? I wonder...who do you think tops?” she mused, her eyes lighting up from the lurid thought. “Oh, it has to be Quinny. He'd shove Obi-Wan over the edge of the couch, grab a handful of that gorgeous hair, thrusting and—”  
  
“Aayla! Blast, stop it! You're as bad as your Master, you know that?” Barriss chided with exasperation. “Anyway, it wouldn't be over a couch, it would be in the shower, up against the tile, all hot and steamy kisses, both of them wet...” she trailed off dreamily, nibbling on the end of her thumb.  
  
Aayla scoffed, pulling Barriss' thumb out of her mouth. “Rissy, you've had that fantasy since you were thirteen and we stole that holovid from Luminara's stash! You need a new one, okay? Something besides two men fucking in a shower—Sith, you can go down to the training room 'fresher and see that any day of the week. Ferus and Tru put on a pretty good show, if you're interested.” She laughed and slid off the pillar, adjusting her skimpy lavender tank before starting for the far end of the club.  
  
“Where are you going?” Barriss shouted into the crowd, stumbling as she tried to catch up to Aayla, the press of bodies conspiring with the alcohol she'd consumed to impair her ability to negotiate both physical and mental functions simultaneously. “Aayla, he's our friend—he would do the same for us. Don't forget how he covered for us in Master Tiin's flight lab that one time—when we were both so hungover we couldn't even climb into a cockpit, much less fly. We'd have flunked for sure.”  
  
Aayla stopped and heaved an impatient sigh, trying not to laugh as her friend weaved ungracefully through the crowd. “Okay. _Okay_. We'll go rescue Baby-Kin and get him out of here, somehow.”  
  
She angled her head across the dance floor to a door with a long queue of Padawans, and another shorter queue of Masters. “You want to know where he is? My money's on some 'fresher stall in there, if last year was any indication,” she said knowingly. “He'd have no problem charming his way to the front of the line, either. All he'd need would be a little pout, a flutter of lashes over big blue eyes, and he'd be in there no problem. It's not _fair_ , 'Rissy. A boy should not be _allowed_ to have that much pretty.”  
  
Barriss pouted and nodded somberly. “Tha's right, he shouldn't,” she agreed, her words slurring just a bit. “Try going on a mission with that—I'd have had a better chance in a room full of Jawas.”  
  
“Come on, then,” Aayla said, grabbing Barriss' hand and yanking her forward. “Let's check out the 'freshers. But after that? You are _so_ buying me a drink, bitch.”

* * *

Anakin leaned against the bar with a pleased sigh and extremely smug smile.  
  
_Siri Tachi_...Master _Tachi...just got on her knees and sucked me off. Now_ this _is Knights Out!_ Grinning proudly, he replayed the encounter again behind his now-closed lids.  
  
_After the demeaning and embarrassing scene with Obi-Wan, they had been on their way to the bar for the drink Anakin so desperately needed, when Siri had suddenly pushed him into a semi-dark recess_ _along one of_ _the wall_ _s_ _of the Outlander.  
  
He couldn't remember how many shots he had done with her, but apparently it was enough to diminish his ability to realize that his pants were open and her hand was expertly stroking his cock to an increasingly uncomfortable hardness. Anakin moaned appreciatively when her tongue began to fuck his mouth in tandem with her strokes.  
  
Siri's breath was hot against his flushed cheek when she pulled back. “Don't you worry baby, I can help you feel better right now,” she murmured __as she slid_ _down his body, every inch of her pressing against him, increasing his desire for release. “I know what you need, and you need it now, don't you?”  
  
Anakin nodded drunkenly as he looked down at Siri. “Yessss,” he moaned, when her warm wet mouth closed around his length. He_ needed _this—this was exactly why he came to Knights Out and exactly what he had wanted.  
  
And that was the problem. It was what he_ had _wanted. Then Obi-Wan had come along and fucked it all up for him, just like he always seemed to do lately.  
  
As Siri worked her tongue around the tip of his cock, Anakin tried desperately to concentrate on the sinfully attractive and orally __gifted_ _blonde at work beneath him. His body was more than willing—that,_ _at least, had never betrayed him._ _His mind, however, was insistent on imagining a_ very _orally_ _gifted_ _auburn head going down on him, sucking and licking and...  
  
Throwing his head back, __Anakin gave in to it all,_ _squee_ _zing_ _his eyes shut. “Oh, oh, oh...”_ Obi-Wan _,_ _he_ _cried out silently as the fantasy vividly played out in his mind. When Obi-Wanton reached up and clutched his ass, Anakin's knees buckled and he came hard and fast, panting as his hands scrabbled against the wall for support. He struggled to remain upright, as much from his level of intoxication as from achieving a very needed—hell,_ necessary— _orgasm_.  
  
Gripping blindly at the edge of the bar top, Anakin's brow wrinkled, realizing with resigned frustration that not only was he thinking about his Master _again_ , but it was the thought of Obi-Wan, not Siri, that had gotten him off. _Fuck it, and fuck you, Obi-Wanker Kenobi. Force_ , he thought angrily, banging his fist on the bar, _if only I could!_  
  
A familiar, high-pitched voice suddenly trilled loudly in his ear, startling him and nearly knocking him off the barstool. “Where the fuck have you been, Sexy-Kin? First 'Rissy wanders off, then you disappear...I swear, I'm getting tired of babysitting you asshats tonight,” Aayla complained, punching Anakin squarely in the arm to emphasize her displeasure.  
  
“Ow! For Sith's sake, _what_? Trust me, it's been one _hell_ of a night, Aayla,” he growled, rubbing his tender arm. “Hey, did you ever find Barriss? I couldn't find her anywhere, well, I mean, I got sidetracked and I, uh, saw uh, and then uh...” he stuttered, chewing his lip nervously and then breaking into a shy smile when he saw Barriss following behind her.  
  
“Barriss! Hey, um...” he stood to embrace his friend, only to find that he was still more than a little buzzed. He swaggered over to Barriss, arms outstretched. “Hey, are you okay? I'm sorry 'bout before...I...”  
  
Barriss waved him off understandingly, returning a warmhearted smile. “Is's not 'portant, Anakin. Don' worry about it—I know you didn't mean anythin' by it.” She struggled to stay upright as Anakin leaned his arms heavily on her shoulders, precariously swaying them both back and forth. “Listen, we should go, 'kay? I'm...I'm tired and, and... _and_...Aayla... _Aayla_ wants to go, too, right?” She turned and hollered at her Twi'lek friend. “ _Aayla!_ ”  
  
Aayla, who had been scanning the crowd in vain for Kit, Quin, or _anyone_ who could possibly show her a better time than her current companions, turned and frowned in confusion. “What? I fucking do not— oh, uh. Yeah, Sexy-Kin, let's go. Come on,” she said absently, not moving a millimeter, her gaze returning to the mass of party-goers.  
  
Anakin backed away from Barriss, shaking his head slowly as he looked at them both suspiciously. “I know what you're trying to do, but you can forget it. I met Vos' _mystery man,_ ” Anakin shrugged, hoping he looked more indifferent than he felt. “I saw Obi-Wan, he saw me, he's super pissed, what else is new?” He turned and grabbed a new bottle of ale, taking a quick gulp.  
  
Aayla swore under her breath. “Okay, then let's just go—Knight's Out is a bust this year, anyway,” she declared, knowing full well she'd be back within the hour, with any luck.  
  
Anakin gestured toward the crowd with a wide sweep of his arm. “Why would I leave all _this_ , now? Just because Obi-Wan is here with the _esteemed_ Quinlan Vos?” he said sarcastically. “Nuh-uh.” He took another long drink and slammed the bottle back on the bar, giving them a strained smile.  
  
“Look, I'm _fine_. Why wouldn't I be?” he said, shrugging with a confidence he really didn't feel, after that humiliating scene with Obi-Wan—it was bad enough that his Master had chastised him like a child, in front of Siri of all people, but seeing Obi-Wan, _his_ Obi-Wan, _with_ someone else, hurt more than he'd ever want to admit to anyone.  
  
Forcing a smug smirk to his lips, he leaned in close to his friends. “Siri Tachi just got on her _knees_ for me—who wouldn't be fine after that?” He laughed at the surprised looks on their faces. “This is what I came for—and I do plan on _coming_ again,” he said with a leer.  
  
Barriss' mouth hung open, while Aayla looked at him in shocked awe. “You did not! _Siri Tachi_? Have you lost your mind? She's Obi-Wan's _ex_ , honey, and you're playing with fire.” The Twi'lek shook her head incredulously. “Now you _do_ need to get out of here, before he finds out about that, too!”  
  
“Nah.” Anakin sighed and signaled the bartender for another ale. “He already knows—and he's jealous and pissed off that Siri's with _me_ ,” he asserted arrogantly.  
  
Smothering a snort, Aayla grabbed the ale from Anakin and took a drink. “Siri's _with_ you, huh? And you think he's jealous of _you_ being with Siri?” She turned and mouthed “ _Okayyyyy_ ” to Barriss, who shrugged helplessly, not knowing what to say.  
  
Anakin gave her a sullen look, lifting his chin proudly. “'Course he is. He can't have Siri and he doesn't want me to have _any_ fun, especially not with her. Never mind that he was having more than enough _fun_ with _Quinlan_ ,” he sneered, unable to keep his jealousy in check.  
  
Barriss smiled sympathetically, laying a hand on Anakin's shoulder. “C'mon, Anakin, let's just go. You and Obi-Wan... you'll sort this all out in the morning, I'm sure. Let's stop by Dex's and pick up some ice cream, watch some holos—whatever you want to do.”  
  
Glowering, Anakin plucked Barriss' slim hand off of his shoulder, dropping it with disdain. “Are you going to tuck me into bed, too? Maybe that's good enough for _you_ , Barriss, but it sure as hell doesn't replace a good fuck. You should give it a try—how long has it been, again?” he spat out unthinkingly.  
  
Immediately, Anakin winced, knowing even as the words left his lips that he'd crossed the line. “Oh, stang, Barriss. I don't know why I said that,” he said apologetically, heaving out a long breath.  
  
Stung, Barriss just glared at him, furious despite the tears shining in her eyes. “You know what, Anakin? Fuck you. Fuck _you_ and all your whining about Obi-Wan and how in love you are and blah blah fucking blah. If you really loved him, if you really wanted to _be_ with him, you'd go home and wait for him and grow some balls and _tell him_ how you feel!” she shouted, her hands fisting at her sides. “ _Hero With No Fear_ ', my ass!”  
  
Anakin reached out to her, filled with remorse. “Barriss, wait. Please. I'm sorry, I—”  
  
“Don't touch me,” she said coldly, backing out of his reach. “If you'd rather stay here with your Master Trashy, be my guest. I'm sure I'll see you in the morning, when you're at my door crying for a med patch because she gave you some Intergalactic Clap, asshole!” she yelled over her shoulder as she burst out the doors toward the lineup of taxis.  
  
Anakin threw up his hands as he watched her leave. “ _Blast_ it!”

* * *

“So, Kenobi, what's it gonna be? A white wine spritzer? A cola with a splash of Corellian rum? Or are you going to _really_ tie one on and have a _whole_ bottle of ale?” Quinlan needled, as he and Obi-Wan pushed and bumped their way to the last two empty stools at the far end of the bar.  
  
Obi-Wan glared at the back of the Kiffar's dark head, only to find that the effect was completely lost. Quinlan had already taken up flirting with some newly-minted Knight, a lanky redhead who made no effort to hide her assets, if one was to assume the thin, stretched bands of fabric were meant to pass as a top and a skirt. He watched as Quinlan's hand grazed over the exposed skin of the Knight's thigh and slipped momentarily beneath the short hemline as he leaned in for a brief open-mouthed kiss that left the poor girl cross-eyed.  
  
Obi-Wan heard needy whimpers and lewd promises before Quinlan turned back to him, a self-satisfied smirk playing across his tattooed face. “Another satisfied customer,” he bragged. Throwing a thumb over his shoulder, he leaned in closer. “Did you get a look at that one?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows. “She's got a friend, you know, if you wanted to...”  
  
A look of disgust fell across Obi-Wan's face. “Oh yes, Quin, an orgy with you would be just the thing to top off this _wonderful_ evening of debauchery you've subjected me to.” He rolled his eyes and pretended to stroke his bearded chin thoughtfully. “I suppose I should be impressed that you can wantonly fondle a barely-of-age woman in public and leave her gaping like some kind of Mon Calamari sea creature?”  
  
Quinlan roared. “Obi-Wan Kenobi at an orgy. Sith _damn_ , that's something I'd pay to see.” He leaned into Obi-Wan with a nudge, giving him a mischievous leer. “Bring Skywalker and I'll waive your fee, Orgy-Wan.” Looking over his shoulder briefly, he added, “And I did not _fondle_ her. What kind of pervert do you think I am? I was...helping her...scratch an itch.”  
  
Obi-Wan snorted loudly, shaking his head. “Really. Is that what they are calling it now?”  
  
“My friend, it is high time you go home and get _your_ itch scratched. All over. Many, _many_ , times. I'm sure your apprentice can apply the right, uh, cream...to all the places that itch and _burn_ ,” Quinlan teased with an exaggerated wink, handing his friend an ale and taking a long sip from his Jedi Boot Licker.  
  
Flabbergasted, Obi-Wan waved his bottle at his friend, his mouth opening and closing several times as he searched for a comeback. “I...I...for the love of the _Force_ , Quinlan, you are the most uncouth...” Turning away, he faced the bar and took a long drink. “Scratching an itch...cream...burn... _fucking Sith_ ,” he murmured under his breath.  
  
“Come on, I bet if you asked him, Boy Toy would love to run home and play ' _Horny Healer_ ' with you. Bacta has a lot of uses, you know...” Quin said, nudging into his shoulder.  
  
Obi-Wan hung his head, shaking it slightly before looking back at his friend. “Such fantasies you have—really Quinlan, I underestimated your creativity. Your true skills are hopelessly underutilized by the Order, aren't they?”  
  
Quinlan shook with laughter. “Oh, Kenobi, you're just so... _easy_! It's no wonder the kid loves to yank your chain. I bet,” he said, lips quirking up mischievously, “that he'd like to yank more than just your chain.”  
  
“Oh, go yank yourself!” Obi-Wan huffed, standing abruptly and swaying a bit, trying his best to offer a polite, if not completely faux, smile to his currently irritating bastard of a friend. “Good luck tonight with Aayla—I do hope your juvenile parlor games are a _rousing_ success. I don't suppose I could persuade you to _not_ kiss and tell, could I?” He snorted at the devilish look on Quin's face. “I didn't think so.” Obi-Wan held up his hand, pleading. “Just...I beg of you—no lekku. I really don't want to know.”  
  
“But that'll be the best part!” Quinlan whined. He stood and clapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder. “Listen, go home, put on your fuzzy slippers and that ugly-assed thing you call a robe, and meditate or whatever the fuck it is you do to relax—since I won't be available for an emergency fuck for at least a couple of hours—and figure out how it is you're going to tell Skywalker how you really feel. If you don't want to do it for yourself, and the fact that you'll have that hot piece of ass in your bed every night, do it for your old pal Quinny, would you? Hell, do it for _all_ of us!”  
  
Obi-Wan shot a lethal glare up at him. “Ah, there it is. That giving, caring, selfless side of Quinlan Vos.” Obi-Wan knew he wasn't being fair; it wasn't Quin's fault that he had stupidly fallen in love with his own Padawan, pushed Anakin into the arms of his ex-lover and a Sith-begotten Senator, and made a complete ass out of himself in front of most of the Order. _Oh no, Kenobi, you've brought that art form to an entirely new level all on your own._  
  
Obi-Wan shook his head and sighed. “Forgive me, Quin. I'm drunk and seem to be a glutton for self-pitying monologues and scathing sarcasm tonight. I'm going to go home now, finish that bottle of wine we opened, and if the Force is done pissing on me this evening, I'll pass out soundly,” he said, giving his old friend a wan smile. “Better still would be to suffer some kind brain trauma that would rid me of the memory of this Force-forsaken night.”  
  
Quin's comm suddenly chimed, making his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Huh. This thing's not gone off all night.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he patted down his pockets for the device. “I told them only to buzz me about three things—the arrival of a Sith Lord, Kit Fisto, or any kind of action they think I might want in on. Force, let it _not_ be Fisto...” he mumbled, putting an ear to his comm.  
  
As Quin conversed with his security team, Obi-Wan held his drink up, checking the level of ale remaining and frowning when he realized he still had half a bottle to go. Bringing it to his lips, he tipped back the bottle, only to have the crowd around him surge toward the center of the long bar. The sudden jostling knocked him off-balance and forced him to miss his lips entirely, emptying a good amount down the front of his shirt and turning it a dark green.  
  
“ _Bloody hell_ ,” Obi-Wan swore, glaring at the Gran and Devaronian who offered lame apologies before continuing on their way with a bleat and a feral snarl. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Quin pointing at him, lewdly imitating the act of removing his shirt and nodding enthusiastically. Obi-Wan scowled with disgust, making the Kiffar shake with silent laughter. “Oh, sure, I'll just cap off the night with a striptease for my colleagues,” he fumed, wiping furiously at the darkening stain.  
  
“They're doing _what_?” Obi-Wan's head jerked up when Quin jumped off the barstool and turned away from him, craning his neck to peer over the crowd. “No! No, really? _Really_? Oh hell, yeah, I'll be right there!” Quin yelled excitedly into the comm, clicking it off before shoving it back into his pocket.  
  
Obi-Wan clutched at his friend's shoulder, trying to get his attention. “What? What is it?” Not for the first time in the course of their friendship, Obi-Wan cursed his lack of height as well as the Kiffar's preponderance of it, stretching up in vain to try to follow Quinlan's line of sight. “Trouble?”  
  
_I've got to give it to the kid...he sure knows how to have a good time_ , Quin grudgingly had to concede to himself. _But_ _kriffing hells_ _, I've got to get Kenobi out of here before he gets wind of this—otherwise I'll end up being his fucking Soul Healer for the next five years_. With the barest hint of hesitation, he turned and flashed an exaggerated smile, his dark dreadlocks swinging out behind him.  
  
“Uh...nah,” Quin said evasively, taking a last swig of his drink. “Nothing I can't handle.” He pulled Obi-Wan into an impulsive hug, pressing a loud, sloppy kiss to his cheek. “Why don't you go on—I'm...I'm not sure how long this'll take, and I don't want to keep you from your robe. Maybe your, uh, your boy can help you out of that wet shirt,” he joked, continuing to look over the party-goers anxiously.  
  
“I'm quite certain I can manage to disrobe on my own, thank you very much,” Obi-Wan said as he watched his old friend curiously—usually he was the one begging off from getting involved in one of Quin's _adventures_ , not the other way around. _He's probably had enough of me for one night—I've been horrid company and a wretched friend_. “Are you sure? I know I was about to leave, but Quinlan, I'm your friend, and if you need help, I could stay...” he offered earnestly, placing a hand on Quin's forearm.  
  
Quin shook his head vigorously, the briefest look of alarm passing over his face. “Nah, you, uh, you go home and, uh, wait for your boy—I'm sure it will all work out in the morning and you two will be all lovey-dovey and happily-ever-after and stuff,” he finished quickly. Clapping his friend on the shoulder one more time, he oriented Obi-Wan in the direction of the doors. Shouting over the music, he started to back away into the crowd, waving his comm at Obi-Wan. “Call me—I want to know _everything_! Gotta go—time for ol' Quinny to play hero!”  
  
“Force help us all,” Obi-Wan snickered to himself, toasting the air before swallowing the last of his drink.  
  
Instead of looking forward to the solitude of his room or the mercy of sleep, only one thought crossed his mind, the one thought he'd come to this abominably humiliating Knights Out to rid himself of.  
  
_Anakin.  
  
Anakin, Anakin, Anakin_...

* * *

“Well.” Aayla crossed her arms, pursed her lips, and glared up at Anakin with a look of disapproval that could rival any that Anakin had ever had the benefit of receiving from Mace Windu. “What the _hell_ is wrong with you? First you kiss Barriss, then you insult her, and now you're off fucking around with Siri Tachi, all because Obi-Wan is here with Quinny?”  
  
Anakin crossed his arms defensively against his chest and scowled at Aayla, not wanting to admit, even to himself, that she was right. “ _No_ , that has nothing to do with it! And there's nothing wrong with me—I'm having...I'm having _fun_ , Aayla.”  
  
“Really? That's great. Because. I'm. Not. _Anakin_!” Aayla enunciated carefully, each word intensifying in volume until his name came out in a high-pitched squawk. Squaring her petite frame up to his, she waved her hand angrily in his face. “I've spent the night cleaning up after you, and why is that again? Oh yeah, because you're _in love_ with _Obi-Wan_ and don't know what to do about it. Well, listen, dumbass. _Go tell him_. Go find him, take him home, and tell him. _Please_!” she yelled, her lekku twitching with her frustration.  
  
Anakin flinched back from her hand, wondering how he'd ever be able to tell Obi-Wan how he felt. _Oh sure, I'll just stroll into our quarters and say “Master, I'm in love with you and I think we should fuck.” No, wait, it should sound more mature, like, “I think we should consummate our relationship, Master.” Yes, pretentious and intellectual, like Obi-Wan. He wouldn't say 'fuck'. Oh, Force, what if he did, with that fucking accent, all dirty and proper at the same time? “Anakin, let's fuck. Fuck me hard, Anakin. Harder, harder...”_ Anakin nearly lost his balance, imagining all the things an _improper_ Obi-Wan could whisper in his ear.  
  
Groaning with frustration, he gave himself a hard shake to clear his mind. _As if Obi-Wan is ever improper—he'd give me that look, with the fucking raised eyebrow, and feed me some line about how it would be_ _'_ _inappropriate and entirely unbecoming for a Jedi Master to engage in such an endeavor._ _'_ _With_ me, _anyway. He doesn't seem to have any problems_ engaging _in anything with Master Vos_.  
  
Anakin signaled the bartender, nodding his thanks when he was handed another bottle. “Like that would go over well—come on! I am _not_ going to tell him, Aayla.” He slid his fingers thoughtfully across the bar top, looking away. “Besides, he'd _never_ take me seriously. Compared to Master Vos, I'm just a kid,” he mumbled petulantly, avoiding Aayla's eyes.  
  
Aayla threw back her head and let out a peal of laughter that made Anakin turn around in surprise. “ _Right_ , because Quinny's the poster-boy for Jedi maturity?” Aayla reached up and ran her small hands down the form-fitting fabric clinging to his shoulders, squeezing affectionately. “While you don't always act like it—tonight being Exhibit A in _that_ regard,” she teased, smirking at Anakin's scowl, “no one could mistake you for a kid—you sure as fuck weren't one in the 'fresher last year.” Leaning over, Aayla whispered in his ear. “You've got a talent that I'm _sure_ your Master will, uh, _come_ to appreciate, Sexy.” She pecked his cheek and sat back with a wink. “Ferus even told me you were the best he's ever had.”  
  
Anakin let out a choked laugh, pointing at her with the top of the bottle. “Ferus— _haja_ , don't even remind me.” His lips curled up playfully and he winked at the Twi'lek. “What about you, Aayla? Was I the best _you_ ever had?” he propositioned, nodding in the direction of the 'freshers. “Are you up for a repeat performance?”  
  
Aayla scoffed at the suggestion. “ _Please_ —you're so hung up on Obi-Wan, you'd be thinking about his hair, or the feel of his beard on your... _whatever_...and not focusing on _me_ ,” she said with a disgusted pout. “I have no intention of being Obi-Wan Kenobi's body double, not even for you, Anakin.” She ran her hands over her lekku, jutting her hip out provocatively. “If you haven't noticed, I have a few more bells and whistles than your Master.”  
  
Anakin coughed loudly, almost spilling his drink. “Who could miss them!” he grinned in agreement. Tapping his toe to the heavy beat of the music, he watched his friend's flirtatious eye-fucking with some purple-furred Bothan down the bar. No, he thought with a chuckle, he had to agree there was no one like Aayla. But to Anakin, there would never be anyone _but_ Obi-Wan. His Master didn't need bells and whistles. He was _Obi-Wan_.  
  
_Obi-Wan_. Despite his best efforts to the contrary, including several ales and more shots than he could recall, Anakin still could not vanquish the searing image of his Master pulling Vos into that heated kiss right in front of him. Releasing a pent-up breath, Anakin fought to subdue the sickening lurch of his stomach. It was more than not wanting his Master touching Quinlan Vos, he knew. _Anakin_ desperately wanted to be the one, _the only one_ , that Obi-Wan touched that way. _Ever_. That he had absolutely no say in the matter only fueled the jealous, angry hurt that thus far no amount of alcohol _or_ fucking around seemed to be able to temper tonight.  
  
Feigning disinterest, he furtively scanned the room for any sign of Obi-Wan or Vos, studying the odd pairs of beings passing by, bodies pressed against each other intimately and knowingly, either on their way to or fresh from a clandestine hookup or a public grope, he couldn't be sure. _I'm not looking for Obi-Wan. I'm not. Okay, I am. Blast—they're probably off in some corner. Or a 'fresher? Is Obi-Wan the 'fresher type? Fuck, you're doing it again! Stop thinking about him. Them. Focus. Focus. You're flirting with Aayla and you're with...Siri_. Siri! _I forgot about Siri. Fucking Obi-Wan, fucking Vos! Fucking Obi-Wan fucking fucking Vos_!  
  
Blowing out a frustrated breath, Anakin leaned back and looked down the length of the bar both ways, catching no sight of the blonde, who had gone off in search of ' _something special_ ' for the two of them. “Hey, you know, it doesn't seem to bother Siri,” he said insolently, drawing his lower lip out into a pout.  
  
The bartender handed Aayla a gaseous drink the exact shade of her lavender outfit, and she mouthed a slow and seductive “ _thank you_ ” to her benefactor down the bar. Giving Anakin a bored look, she waved her hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, good for you. You can now claim that honor, along with half the Jedi Order, _including_ your Master,” she said, poking him in the chest.  
  
After taking a sniff of the beverage and finding the exotic aroma pleasing, she gestured unsteadily at Anakin with it. “Listen. _Anakin_. I know how you must have felt seeing Obi-Wan and Quinny carrying on like two rutting banthas—even for me, it was...definitely a sight. If you want Obi-Wan to take you seriously, throwing _Siri_ in his face sure as hell isn't going to help your case—I mean really, screwing around with his _ex_?” She shook her head regretfully and took a tentative sip, licking her lips in satisfaction at the potent mix of liquids. “You should run while you still have your cock intact, honey.”  
  
“Knight Secura, I see you learned your manners from your Master.” Coming up behind them, Siri placed a tray of drinks on the bar and sidled up to Anakin. “I suppose that's all one could expect from a Padawan of Quinlan Vos,” she intoned with a polite sarcasm, offering Aayla a frosty smile. “Not that I owe you any sort of explanation, but Obi-Wan and I were over long ago, and Anakin and I are getting better _acquainted_ this evening.” She stroked a red nail under Anakin's chin, turning his face toward hers. “Aren't we, baby?”  
  
Anakin nodded and wrapped a possessive arm around Siri's waist, determined to prove to Aayla, and himself, that this was exactly what he wanted tonight. He nuzzled his chin into Siri's palm as he pulled her closer. “Yeah...having fun, getting to know each other and...stuff. I was just telling Aayla how I'm _not ready to leave_ ,” he said emphatically, giving his friend a very pointed look.  
  
Aayla choked on her drink, ignoring Anakin completely. “Oh, I see. Well, the next time I read a mission report of yours, Master Tachi, I'll be sure to interpret ' _getting acquainted with the local population' as 'providing blow jobs in dark corners_ ,' then,” she said innocently, taking a dainty sip from her cocktail.  
  
Siri's eyes narrowed and she slid out of Anakin's hold, tossing her hair back confidently as she sauntered up to Aayla. “I'd back _off_ , little one, if I were you,” she seethed, deliberately looking Aayla over head to toe with contempt. “Given your genetic _proclivities_ , perhaps you should consider returning to Ryloth. I mean, just _look_ at you this evening—it appears you would be far better suited to the life of a more _traditional_ Twi'lek female, yes? I'm sure you have several lucrative _talents_ not needed by the Jedi, darling.”  
  
Aayla held her chin high and patted a seemingly conciliatory hand on Siri's arm, the saccharine sweetness of her voice belying the venom in her words. “Oh, you wish you had even _half_ of what I do, honey. I could dance in every Hutt palace from here to Tatooine and I'd still come out cleaner than your skanky ass.”  
  
Behind Siri, Anakin cleared his throat and turned towards the bar, smothering a nervous giggle into his fist. There was no _way_ he was taking sides in _that_ —not if he had any hope of having a good time tonight _and_ a friend in the morning. Sighing, he placed his elbow on the bar, chin in his hand, trying to imagine both women dancing—no, pole dancing—in some dingy dive in the Outer Rim.  
  
Through the din of the club, he heard Aayla fire off another sharp retort, followed by Siri's icy smooth comeback. Anakin shook his head and laughed ruefully, taking a shot off of the tray Siri had brought over and tossing back the creamy liquor. As he lapped at the corner of his mouth where a little drop had lingered, he felt his stomach tighten when his vision morphed into a glittery Obi-Wan in various states of undress, gyrating suggestively in a private show in their quarters, lit only by the glow of Coruscant's night sky. Anakin moaned quietly, shifting in his seat as he tried to ease the sudden tight discomfort of his pants. A fierce blush spread hot across his cheeks and he raked his fingers down his thighs, gripping at his knees for support.  
  
Siri glared at Aayla one more time, then gestured back towards Anakin. “Darling, I already have plenty more than you do, so it seems. You were here with _whom_ , again? Funny, I do believe Kit is off-planet and Quinlan, well...” Leaning in, she lowered her voice conspiratorially. “We all know who he's with tonight, don't we? Best not to bring that up, wouldn't you agree?” she said with a wink, pressing a finger facetiously over her red lips.  
  
Aayla rolled her eyes once more but reluctantly nodded in agreement before rejoining Anakin at the bar. “Whore thinks she's all that. _Whatever_...” she muttered, nudging Anakin.  
  
“What?” Anakin said distractedly, his mind enjoying Stripper-Wan unbuttoning his trousers and sauntering toward the bedroom, beckoning for Anakin to follow.  
  
Mildly annoyed, Aayla yanked hard on his braid a couple of times to get his attention. “Hey!”  
  
Reluctantly forced out of his reverie, Anakin pouted drunkenly. “Hey, hands _off_ the braid,” he complained as he bumped against her shoulder. “Missing yours? How 'bout we trade—you be the Padawan and I'll be the Knight? I should be a Knight, anyway,” he groused, looking down at his braid scornfully.  
  
Aayla snorted and yanked it again. “Oh, I _don't_ think so—sounds way too much like a game for you and your Master to play, and I already told you, I'm _not_ being your Obi-Wan. And quit it with the whining about Knighthood already—fuck knows you'll be a Knight soon enough, and Force help us all then.”  
  
Anakin lowered his eyes at the mention of his Master. _Why can't I just have_ one _night without thinking about him? I'm at Knights Out, with my friends—fuck, I'm with Siri Tachi—and I can't stop wondering where he is, what he's doing, or worse, who the fuck he's with? This is_ my _night, and I'm going to have a Knights Out I'll never forget, Obi-Wan be damned. Starting_ now.  
  
Aayla glanced over her shoulder at Siri, who was cavorting with a couple of star-struck and painfully young Padawans, a repugnant frown turning down the corners of her blue mouth before meeting the rim of her glass. “Honey, you sure you really want to stay?” she asked with concern, noticing the flicker of sadness in Anakin's eyes when he looked down.  
  
Anakin bobbed his head and grabbed two shots off the tray, smiling confidently as he handed one over to his friend. “Oh, yeah, Aayla. Definitely stayin'. C'mon, drink with me! You said you wanted to have some fun, so let's have some fun!” He clumsily clinked his glass against Aayla's, then downed the shot, laughing when some of the liquid dribbled down his chin. “Wha's in these, anyway?” he asked, swiping at his chin with the back of his hand.  
  
Siri smiled politely at the young Padawans fawning over her, watching Anakin out of the corner of her eye, a cheshire smile crossing her lips. _So much potential in your...package, kitten, and dear stupid Obi-Wan doesn't even have a clue what he's missing. I'll be sure to let him know just what he's been denying himself. Once I'm done with you, of course._  
  
Aayla downed her glass and ran her tongue over her lips. “Mmm...Alderaanian chocolate creme liqueur, I think. Expensive stuff,” she acknowledged, nodding appreciatively back at Siri. “Obviously _you_ didn't pick this out, Baby-Kin.”  
  
Siri moved up behind Anakin, pressing against his back as her warm breath tickled against his ear. “You have surprisingly discerning tastes, Aayla. It's a bit high-priced, I admit, but I like how it just _slides_ down my throat, don't you?” she asked the pair, stealing a lingering glance at Aayla as she slid a finger over Anakin's lips and down the column of his throat.  
  
“Mmm-hmm,” Anakin agreed, reaching for another, but Siri stilled his arm and turned him around. Standing between his spread thighs, she ran her hands up the insides of the black leather. “Baby, I think it's time for us to have some more fun.”  
  
Anakin groaned, his legs squeezing against Siri reflexively from the subtle brush against crotch. Pressing herself against his muscled thigh, Siri leaned over and poured out a lucid amber liquid into a row of glasses and set a spice shaker and a bowl of tiny wedges of a tart pink Ithorian fruit next to them.  
  
Turning back to Anakin, Siri watched him through fluttering lashes as her hands slid back over his thighs and down to the lowest button on her white, translucent blouse. Gulping, Anakin couldn't help but stare as she slowly undid one button, then another, and another until she reached the lower swell of her full breasts. “There, now we're just about set, darling. Help me up?” she asked softly, wrapping her arms across his shoulders.  
  
Anakin lifted her easily, biting his lip as she swung her thigh-high boots up onto the bar and leaned back on one elbow. Swirling a finger in one of the glasses, she brought it to her lips, sucking it in slowly. She dunked her finger again and then tugged Anakin's braid to draw him in closer, this time brushing it against his lips.

“Ever done this, Anakin? I somehow doubt that this is included in Obi-Wan's regular lesson plans,” she teased, flicking the very tip of her tongue to taste his lips.  
  
Anakin swallowed hard, unable to imagine any kind of training that would have involved a half-naked Jedi Master on a bar top. An errant image of Obi-Wan, tunics loosened and hair mussed, spread out across a beach-side lounger, flitted across his subconsciousness, only to be ruthlessly suppressed when Siri spread open her blouse, baring her tanned abdomen before she lay back on the bar, fanning her hair out around her. Looking at Siri, the shots, and the fruit, Anakin let out a nervous laugh. _What the hell is the spice used for? Don't blow this...don't look like an idiot...think..._ “Of course I have, I, uh...”  
  
Heaving an annoyed sigh, Aayla roughly pushed him aside. “For fucking Force's _sake_ , you're all talk out of that pretty mouth, aren't you? Watch and learn, _Padawan_ ,” she commanded. Taking a piece of the fruit, she held it out wordlessly to Siri, raising a questioning eyebrow. Siri gave her a dubious look but assented, lifting her chin to nip the fruit out of Aayla's fingers. Aayla looked around, making sure she had a captive audience, and then to Anakin's surprise, nimbly vaulted up to straddle Siri's waist, rocking her hips slowly as she took her time settling herself atop the other woman.  
  
Beaming at the crowd, the Twi'lek swept her lekku to the side, restraining them with one hand, and leaned forward, letting her tongue trace a line from the top of Siri's navel to just under the edge of her blouse. Blowing lightly over the wet skin, Aayla locked eyes with Siri, smiling victoriously when Siri writhed beneath her. Sitting back, she reached for the spice and shook it over the moistened trail, and licking again, slowly, Aayla turned her head and winked when her eyes met Anakin's.  
  
_Stars' end_ , Anakin thought, a shock racing down to his groin as he watched Aayla slide her tongue, hell, her whole damn body, over Siri's. It was like watching every adolescent Padawan's fantasy play out right in front of his eyes, he thought smugly, until he started instead to imagine Obi-Wan spread out across the bar, willingly prostituting himself for personal pleasure, as hands, tongues, and various other appendages pillaged his body, skimming over his chest, following the trail of fine hair down to his...

 _Stop_! Anakin admonished himself angrily. _The girls, watch the fucking girls, dumbass! What is_ wrong _with me_? As Aayla reached for a shot glass, Anakin took one as well, downing it quickly and hissing at the bitter aftertaste.  
  
Arching her neck, Aayla downed the shot effortlessly. She then balanced her body above Siri's, slowly lowering herself to capture Siri's mouth in her own, sucking lightly for a long moment before sitting back, licking her lips clean of the juice from the fruit.  
  
“ _That's_ how you do it,” she said with a self-satisfied smirk, petting Siri's stomach before lithely hopping down to a thundering round of cheers and applause. “Your turn, Sexy-Kin—show us what a good little Padawan Learner you really are,” she said mockingly, offering the shaker to Anakin.  
  
Siri sat up on her elbows, smiling at Aayla before crooking a long finger his way. “Yes, baby, it's your turn to have some fun,” she purred with an inviting smile.  
  
_Damn right it's my turn to have some fun_ , Anakin thought bitterly, recalling Obi-Wan's bold proclamation of fun and his subsequent face-sucking with Master Vos. _Oh, I'll show you who's having fun, Master_!  
  
Anakin brushed past Aayla. “I have a better idea,” he declared as he swaggered over to Siri. T _here's no way Obi-Wan would ever do_ this _._ Clutching Siri's waist, he lifted her off the bar to a chorus of disappointed groans from the onlookers. _But I would_.  
  
“Baby, what's wrong? We were just getting started,” Siri cooed with a puzzled frown as she fingered his braid, trying to pull him back toward the bar. Admittedly, she had thoroughly enjoyed the Twi'lek's _demonstration_ —far more than she really should have—but in order to hit Obi-Wan where it would really hurt, she needed to create a very public spectacle with his precious Anakin. Word would eventually circulate back to Master Kenobi that his apprentice had been engaging in conduct completely unbecoming for a Padawan with a Master of such high moral standing as Obi-Wan Kenobi. _His bloated ego won't be able to stand it—both his heart and his reputation cut to ribbons in one delicious, very delicious, moment. I just hope I can see his face_.  
  
“Nothin's wrong,” he slurred, sloshing alcohol everywhere as he refilled the emptied shot glasses. Returning to Siri, Anakin's lips curled up at the edges as he watched his fingers skate across the exposed skin of her stomach. “Like Aayla said, it's _my_ turn,” he said arrogantly, lifting Siri's hair off her neck to nuzzle against her ear. “So, I. Want. A. Turn.”  
  
Siri gasped softly, enjoying her prey's unexpected aggression. “Of-of course you can have a turn, baby. What-whatever you want,” she complied, the words hitching as Anakin's tongue found a sensitive spot on her neck.  
  
Aayla snickered loudly, slamming the shaker down on the bar. “Sexy, you're so drunk, you don't even know what you're saying.”  
  
“'m not,” Anakin insisted, pulling out of Siri's embrace. Backing up to the bar, he yanked his shirt out of his pants and pulled the tight blue material up over his head, a cocky smile lighting up his face at the various hoots, whistles and catcalls from the surrounding crowd. “Come on, it'll be _fun_. I'll even let you take a turn, Aayla,” he sing-songed with an arrogant smirk.  
  
“You wish, honey. Anakin Skywalker, you know he's going to kill you!” Aayla warned, shaking her head as she caught his tossed shirt.  
  
Anakin let out an exasperated grunt. “Who? Obi-Wan? My Master's too busy _having fun_ with _your_ Master, and either way, _I don't care_. I'm Anakin _fucking_ Skywalker, I'm The Chosen One, and _this_ is Knights Out,” he proclaimed with a wide sweep of his arms. “I plan on making the most out of it!”

 _And I don't care what you think, Obi-Wan. I don't. Much._  
  
Jumping up on the bar, he leaned on his elbows and arched his head back, inciting a roar of cheers from the onlookers that had begun to gather around him. “Who's first?” Anakin called out, pointing at the stool next to him. “Line forms here!”  
  
Siri smiled at Anakin, a predatory gleam in her eye as she realized, with a delighted satisfaction, that her evening's plaything had graciously decided to hang himself with his own rope. “Well, now, Anakin _fucking_ Skywalker, I'd be more than happy to be your _first_ ,” she announced as she sauntered up to the bar in an all-out strut, playing it up for the benefit of the crowd. _If they want a show, I'll give them a show they'll never stop talking about_.  
  
Kneeling up on the barstool, Siri palmed her hand possessively over the chiseled muscles of Anakin's chest. “Oh, baby, we're going to have so much fun, aren't we,” she crooned, reaching up to drag her forefinger over Anakin's parted lips before placing a fruit wedge in his mouth. _Make no mistake, kitten, Obi-Wan is very much going to care._  
  


* * *

“I'm sorry, sir, but another taxi won't be around for at least another twenty minutes,” the irritatingly polite service droid informed a dismayed Obi-Wan. “Apparently the lanes near 500 Republica are blocked off at the order of an inbound Senator, and all traffic is being rerouted.”  
  
“Of _course_ it is,” Obi-Wan fumed, impatiently brushing the hair that the breeze had blown in his eyes back off his face, imagining just _which_ Senator would have the audacity to alter traffic patterns as a personal preference. _One who's vain enough to not want one of her atrociously overdone coiffures tossed about by passing traffic, that's who_. He sighed and glanced down at his chrono in resignation. “Just add me to the queue for the next available taxi, then. Oh, and do be sure to put it on Master Vos' tab, would you?” he added through gritted teeth before withdrawing from the taxi stand.  
  
Obi-Wan approached the doors of the Outlander and peered through the glass, watching the mass of party-goers engaged in the typical Knights Out behaviors the evening had become so infamous for. His eyes darted through the crowd, unconsciously searching for any tall blondes draped shamelessly against any even taller Padawans in body-hugging blue shirts and signature black leather pants. _He's in there somewhere, undoubtedly having a gloriously hedonistic evening with Siri, whereas I'm skulking off to drink myself into oblivion before passing out in an empty bed. Pathetic_.  
  
Obi-Wan pushed through the doors, recoiling when the steamy, cloying air rushed over him as it made its escape into the cool Coruscanti night. _I knew I should have stayed home—obviously I need to reconsider this arrangement with Quinlan if all it takes is a quick and dirty fuck against my windows to so easily coerce me into attending this juvenile soirée and ending up drunk and alone. I could do that just as easily in my quarters, with significantly less humiliation. It's Knights Out—who ends up alone after Knights Out_?

He laughed mirthlessly. _I do_.  
  
Wrinkling up his nose at the sweaty odor of the passing Sullustan sliding uncomfortably close to him, Obi-Wan looked off in the direction he'd seen Quin go. Even through his alcohol-infused haze, he knew Quinlan probably _had_ needed his help, but Quin had let him leave anyway. Obi-Wan felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that for all his crude and banal antics, Quinlan Vos was one of his oldest and dearest friends. A loud cheer erupted from somewhere near the middle of the bar, making him shake his head and exhale sharply.  
  
“I'm on my way, Quinlan, to help you out of whatever disaster you've undoubtedly fallen into,” he muttered, heading into the throng once more.  
  


* * *

Quinlan nodded as he listened to the comm pressed against his ear. “Yeah, I'm here now. No, I don't see—wait, never mind. Fuck yeah, I want you to keep a look out for the Nautolan! That's what I'm paying you for!” he yelled, clicking it off and shoving it back into his pocket.  
  
Walking up behind Aayla, he tilted his head forward, allowing his dreadlocks to fall against her lekku and tickle the sensitive appendages. “What's going on, sweetheart?” he asked, gently grazing the rough stubble of his chin against her cheek while he folded his fingers over her upper arms to embrace her. “I got a report—something about you and Tachi engaged in a little girl-on-girl action? _Tell me_ I didn't miss that?” Quin begged, looking around for the leggy blonde Jedi Master.  
  
Aayla sank back into his arms, briefly enjoying the feel of Quinlan's strong body against her back, before smacking his hands away and ducking out of his hold. “Save your wet dreams for another time, big boy—show's over. You snooze, you _lose_ ,” she replied with a lofty snicker, looking down to pick over her nails and swirl the remainder of her drink.  
  
Quin cocked his eyebrow, dipping his head just enough to catch Aayla's eye. “Is that so? Well, sweetheart, you'll just have to show me later, won't you?” he quipped, laughing again when the Twi'lek tossed her lekku indignantly.  
  
“ _Maybe_. If nothing better comes along, I suppose you'll just have to do...” she threw back at him, fighting to keep the smile from her lips. “And just where is your... _date_ , Quinny?” She leaned to the left and right, making as show of looking around her former Master's imposing stature. “As I recall, weren't you and Obi-Wan ' _having fun_ '?”  
  
Quin coughed and cleared his throat, pushing his dreadlocks behind his shoulders. “Yeah, well, I sent him home when I got the call about Tachi whoring herself on the bar—the whole thing had Skywalker's stink all over it. Speaking of, just where is Chosen Boy, anyway?”  
  
Aayla snorted, inclining her head towards the bar. “Shit-faced and all ' _I'm Anakin Skywalker, I can do whatever I want, I'm hot shit_ ,' blah blah fucking blah,” she mimicked in her high nasal voice. “Just look for yourself.” Huffing, she folded her arms across her chest and glared at her former Master. “This is all your fault, Quinny—you and this stupid game you're playing with Obi-Wan. Sexy should be home with Obi-Wan sharing deeply disgusting professions of everlasting love—which is actually very sweet, for _them_ anyway—not being the Order's rent boy for the night!”  
  
Quinlan let out a low chuckle, scratching at his head incredulously. “ _Damn_ , that kid, I swear...if Kenobi hadn't declared him a no-fly zone... _Hey_ , hold on there!” He swung back around to face Aayla. “ _My_ fault? Hey, _none_ of this was my idea,” he cried defensively, holding up his hands. “I was just playing along—how was I to know she'd go after his boy? Besides, _Skywalker's_ the one who chose to play _rent boy_ over there on the bar with Tachi's tongue all over him. Not that I can blame him,” he added salaciously, craning his neck to get another view. “Oh hell, not that can I blame _her_ ,” he murmured to himself.  
  
Aayla hit him again. “Quinlan Vos! Obi-Wan is your friend—I know even _you_ respect that. He'd slice and dice your ass if you touched Anakin, and you know it.”  
  
“Ow! Hey, take it easy, would you? I already got the yellow-eyed lecture from Sithy-Wan earlier, thanks.” He gave Aayla a rakish once-over and nodded towards the bar. “So, what's it worth to you if I got Skywalker's pretty little ass out of here? A little motivation goes a long way, sweetheart.”  
  
Aayla tossed her head, unimpressed. “ _Anyone_ could simply pull the fire sensor and clear the place—where's the challenge in that for _Quinlan Vos_?” She twirled a couple of his dreadlocks around her finger playfully. “Now, should you actually get those two nerf herders _together_ —and by together, I mean hot Jedi loving that no longer involves you, Siri, or any other third party unless requested by them, at which point I'd insist I get to watch—I'd be inclined to give you just about anything you want, Quinny.” Grabbing two handfuls of Quin's coarse hair, she roughly yanked him down to her eye level. “And no one knows better than your Padawan what you want, _do_ they?”  
  
Quin gave her a lecherous, lopsided grin. “Now there's an offer I can't refuse. Just let ol' Quinny take care of everything, and then _you_ can take care of Quinny,” he winked, brushing his lips over hers softly. He ran a hand over the crown of her lekku before prying her hands from his dreadlocks and holding her at arms' length. “Obi-Wan finally gets his boy, you get me, and I get whatever I want. It's a win-win situation all around!”  
  
Aayla's eyes widened in surprise as she looked just beyond Quinlan's shoulder, catching sight of Mace Windu. “You think so, honey? We'll see who comes out _on top_. The deal's only good for tonight, so you better make it fast.” She gestured gleefully in Mace's direction. “Who's that over there, talking with Windu? Oh _my_ , that isn't...oh now, it couldn't be...”  
  
“Who?” Quin whipped his head around and let out an aggravated groan. “Aw, come _on_. Kenobi, what are you doing here?” he muttered, turning back to face Aayla. “Not a problem. Really,” he postured, undaunted. This was an opportunity with Aayla that he wasn't going to pass up, and whether he knew it or not, Obi-Wan was about to help him.  
  
“I thought you said he went home?” Aayla asked with mock sincerity. “Good luck, Quinny. You're _so_ going to need it,” she chortled, trailing her hand down the length of his arm as she strolled past him on her way to the bar. “I'll be waiting.”  
  
Quin watched the sway of Aayla's hips with a plaintive whimper before setting his sights on Anakin. _Obi-Wan, my old friend, this is going to be for your own good, trust me. Won't be too bad for me, either_ , he chuckled to himself, slinking away into the crowd to make good on his deal with Aayla.


	5. Circus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on LJ, 2013. Edited for stylistic preferences.
> 
> After a longggg hiatus, I was pulled back to the Outlander in 2013 with the help and encouragement of SnootieGirl, to whom I give a co-writing credit for this chapter. Though I do take all responsibility for Quinlan, there's just no excuse for him.

**_I'm like the ringleader, I call the shots_**  
**_I'm like a firecracker, I make it hot when I put on a show_**  
**_All eyes on me in the center of the ring, just like a circus..._**   ~Britney Spears, Circus

Having regrettably come into far too close contact with the sweaty, sticky, and/or slimy appendages of his Jedi brethren, Obi-Wan's brow furrowed as he finally caught sight of Quinlan, only to have the Kiffar disappear into the bobbing throng of party-goers continuing to push their way towards whatever disturbance his friend had been dispatched to resolve.

 _It would be so much easier if we could use the Force in this Sith-forsaken place. Quin projects his lust almost as loudly as Anakin does his petulance._ Obi-Wan frowned deeper. _I am not thinking about Anakin and his petulance. Or the way his lip pouts. Or what it must taste like._ Distracted completely by the idea of running his tongue across his Padawan's jutting lower lip, Obi-Wan barreled right into what he belatedly recognized as some kind of queue for bar service.

A tray of slender tubes filled with a deep metallic green liquor launched dangerously into the air, quickly snatched by a dark hand that slapped them back to the tray angrily. "Hey, watch it, motherfucker! Don't make me kick your sorry drunken ass."

Mortified, Obi-Wan's hands flailed helplessly at the tray, nearly upending the beverages once more. "Oh, I am sorry, I— _blast!_ " Cursing Anakin, Anakin's lips, and any further ruminations about the flavor of said flesh for his oafish blundering, he started to offer further apologies, praying that that the Force might finally be on his side and he'd be able to slip away without further incident. Lowering his useless hands, Obi-Wan glanced up into the narrowed eyes of Mace Windu and sighed resignedly.

 _So...still not on my side._ "Oh. Um...hello."

"Hey, Kenobi? You're still here?" Mace gawked, his threatening glower replaced by puzzled surprise. "I can't believe you've even lasted this long. Did you make nice with Tachi? Hell, for that, I'd beg, bark, and roll over!" he chortled with a hard clap of camaraderie to Obi-Wan's back, forcing Obi-Wan to stagger forward with a startled grunt. "Or did you finally go running to Skywalker and confess your everlasting love? What you see in that boy, well, other than the obvious, I'll never know."

_And you had better never._

The bitter thought was so immediate, it brought Obi-Wan up short. Padmé, Siri, Quinlan, and now _Mace_? Was he seriously _threatened_ by Mace? _Well, it_ is _Knights Out, and stranger things have happened..._

Obi-Wan had learned long ago not to underestimate in any way the twisted humor of the Force when it came to humiliating and humbling her servant Jedi. He only had to look at how his evening had progressed thus far: a ridiculous fight with Anakin, a desperately urgent indiscretion with Quin, the infuriating sight of Siri seducing his very willing Padawan, another _,_ _very public_ fight with Anakin, and _dancing_. Master Obi-Wan Kenobi had been dancing. With Quinlan! Oh, yes, he most certainly had become the Force's plaything, and she was having a _grand_ time this night.

Obi-Wan was dismayed at how out of control his behavior—his _life—_ had become. It would be far too easy to blame the Force, or Quinlan—well, a lot of this evening was _definitely_ his fault, first and foremost dragging him here, second for being such a good friend that Obi-Wan had felt obliged to stay and help him out—but Obi-Wan was the one with the tragically preposterous unrequited love for his own Padawan. He might be the Master, but he had no right to make claims on Anakin, no authority to engage a security perimeter around his Padawan or growl menacingly at potential rivals like some kind of territorial pack beast.

_Really, this is what I've become? A slobbering vornskr? Wonderful._

Obi-Wan swayed and checked his balance, managing a half-hearted smile and deferential dip of his head—he might be a drooling canine, but he would be a drooling canine with _manners_. "Master Windu. I apologize for my clumsiness. I'd heard you cleaned up in your game with Master Yoda. Do tell me you're not in line to make him pay up?"

"' _Master Windu'_? Whatever, _Master Kenobi_ ," Mace laughed again, looking almost angelic as the lights reflected off his head, though the words that followed were anything but. "Yeah, I beat the old troll all right—the little green dude passed out not long after the last round—I think he's still under the table. Damn good thing, too. You know how Yoda talks when he's sauced—actually makes sense. So seriously, why _are_ you still here?" He made a show of checking around Obi-Wan and shook his head mockingly. "Still alone, huh? Looking for a little _action_ to bring home for the night?"

Closing his eyes for a moment, Obi-Wan swore under his breath, rubbing a hand over his chin to hide his impatience at Mace's needling. "Thank you, yes, I'm still alone, as you said, and no, I'm not looking for any sort of...of... _action_ that Knights Out might provide at this point." He craned his neck past the other Master in the direction where he'd last seen Quin. "I'm actually looking to help Quinlan with some security issue. Have you seen him?"

"Nah, though that fucker owes me for sending Fisto off-planet for him. I just came over to pick up a tray of Selonian Shooters for me, Mundi, and Luminara, which you nearly spilled all over the damn place—stang, Kenobi, what is _with_ you tonight? You show up here of all places, which really deserves some kind of investigation of Sith influence right there, you turn down Tachi, you're seen macking on _Vos_..."

He regarded Obi-Wan with a mix of pity and wonderment. "Skywalker's worth all that desperation, huh? The boy's got it where it counts, I'll give you, but _man_ , you _turned down Tachi._ Haven't you wanted to hit that for years? You had better get to 'Nara in the morning for a head scan."

"A _head scan_?" Astounded, Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and impulsively grabbed one of the shots, tossing it back immediately. The liquor burned all the way down, causing his eyes to water. "That? Was _awful,_ " he coughed, reaching for another. He waved it erratically in Mace's shocked face.

"Nevertheless, w-while your concern for my health is touching, Mace, my choices for companionship, or lack thereof this evening, are not a matter for Luminara's scrutiny...or anyone else's!" he huffed indignantly, throwing back the second one and tossing both tubes back on the tray. He gasped for air, wishing for anything, even Nubian _Ass_ Tea, to wash down the vile assault on his throat. "I am here simply," he rasped, blinking repeatedly to clear his watery eyes, "as a favor to Quinlan, nothing more!"

Mace chuckled to himself, impressed by the hangover Kenobi would undoubtedly be nursing for the next three days at this rate. "Looks more like he's been doing _you_ the favor, Obi-Wan. For a couple of years now, and I know you know what I mean." He waved and hollered across the room, pointing down at Obi-Wan and making an exaggerated sad face, followed by a crude gesture that made Obi-Wan look away in distaste.

"Listen." Mace walloped Obi-Wan on the arm to get his attention, which was still occupied with thoughts of swallowing the entirety of Hoth to extinguish the fire burning its way down his esophagus. "When you're done sniffing around Vos' ass and pining for Skywalker, you should join us," he invited, nodding his head encouragingly. "A little _adult_ company might help."

" _For the love of—"_ Obi-Wan stumbled again, wincing as he rubbed at his throbbing arm. "Please do let me know if you see any this evening, Mace. _Adults_ , that is," he countered icily, slanting his gaze over at the spectacular example Masters Billaba and Ti were currently setting involving a stage, some unidentifiable props, and... _feathers?_ Obi-Wan averted his eyes back to Mace—he really didn't want to know, he decided.

The Korun let out a loud guffaw, tucking the tray in close as he backed away into the crowd. "Only the good die young, Obi-Wan," he advised, beaming mischievously. "And sinners have a helluva lot more fun."

Scowling, Obi-Wan began his trek through the undulating crowd once more, his throat still burning, but not as much as his inflamed frustration and scorched pride. "Then Anakin surely will surpass Yoda," he muttered bitterly, willing himself to not think of what kinds of _sins_ Anakin had already engaged in that evening.

_And I must have died a long time ago._

* * *

Anakin stretched out languorously on the now-slick surface of the bar, casually propping up a boot against the ale tap on the inside rail. He wriggled his body and arched his hips to the beat of the music pounding in his ears, seeing the swirl and strobe of the lights even through his closed lids. He'd been skeptical about this whole body shots thing, but after seeing Aayla perched on Siri, working her tongue all the way up the other woman's body... Anakin just _knew_ it was the distraction he'd spent the entire night looking for. Now the party was coming to _him_ ; Anakin Fucking Skywalker was the center of attention and loving it, and fuck anyone who tried to get in his way.

_Damn right, no one's gonna stop me now. Not even Obi-Wanker Kenobi._

Above the music, he heard the appreciative roar of his audience, and cracked open an eye, figuring it was for whoever was next in line. He didn't care who it was, as long as they kept coming, and by the looks of the line, he wouldn't have long to wait. He settled back, grinning when long nails raked through his short curls and Siri's familiar voice purred, "Are you enjoying yourself, darling?"

With the juicy wedge of fruit pushed between his lips, Anakin could only nod and relax, groaning as Siri shimmied and settled herself once again across his hips for another turn. _Fuck yeah, this is a Knights Out to remember. Obi-Wan is always saying I should be mindful of the moment, and I plan on making many moments to be mindful of tonight!_

His commitment to mindfulness was almost instantly derailed when some Ithorian bellowing ' _Oh, you can blow me!',_ sounded to Anakin a hell of a lot like _'Obi-Wan Kenobi'_. Betrayed once more by his out-of-control preoccupation with Obi-Wan, Anakin chastised himself, irritated that once again he'd allowed thoughts of his Master to disrupt his very deliberate attempts— _hello, Siri's mouth currently near my delta quadrant_ —at forgetting the man altogether. Or at least forget for _five fucking minutes_ , was that so much to ask?

 _Apparently,_ he thought hopelessly, the lights, the music, the clamor of the club melting away as Fantasy-Wan appeared to him once again, not for a casual strip tease in their quarters this time, not a dirty, needy hookup in the 'fresher, but forcefully pushing his way to the front of the line, eager to claim his turn...

_Obi-Wan vaulted up to the top of the bar, his boots clicking sharply on the smooth surface. The crowd cheered, initially for this bold, sexy stranger's commanding swagger, then louder when surprised cries of recognition quickly spread word of his identity. Now the center of rapt attention, visible to a wide swath of the club, tongues and other appendages wagged in anticipation. Obi-Wan brushed aside those bangs that drove both him and Anakin crazy—though for very different reasons, Anakin knew—and with a broad smile, held out a hand for quiet. "I do believe—"_

_Anakin's eyes shot open, instantly blinded by the flash of a passing strobe light. Was that..._ Obi-Wan _? He tried to blink away the glare, his eyes sluggishly coming into focus... Oh sweet Force. There, standing between Anakin's bent knees, face flushed, hair tossing about rakishly as he swayed just a little bit on the heels of his boots, was his Master. Anakin sucked in a breath and bit his lip, not daring to breathe._

_"—it is my turn with this Padawan!" Obi-Wan finished with a flourish of his hand, to thunderous cheers and applause._

_Obi-Wan placed his hands on his hips and turned his commanding gaze down at Anakin, who hadn't moved an inch since he had heard that damn unintentionally seductive voice that had fed his raging libido for years. He regarded his Master warily now, his mind reeling... His turn? No fucking way. Was he really going to?_

_Anakin caught the wicked gleam in Obi-Wan's eyes and gulped, watching as his usually buttoned-up Master reached up and released one button on his shirt. Then, slowly and deliberately, he unbuttoned the next. And the next. He finally reached the last one, and just like his cloak—which would never be an innocent motion ever again—slid the shirt off of one shoulder, then the other, leaving Anakin's mouth dry._

_The crowd roared, but Anakin's full attention was on the nearly unrecognizable man hovering half-naked above him. Feeling himself heating from within, Anakin wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, encouraged by the way his Master's pupils grew darker with each lazy, provocative swipe. Obi-Wan balled up the shirt and threw it casually over his shoulder, raising his eyebrow as if he was daring Anakin to challenge him._

_Squatting down, but frustratingly_ not _touching Anakin yet, Obi-Wan grabbed the bottle, measuring out two more shots. With a disparaging shake of his head, he stood back up, gazing down at Anakin's torso. "Just look at you. You're filthy, Padawan, ravaged and defiled by countless others who have had their mouths on you, a disgrace that you not only allowed, but wantonly encouraged." Obi-Wan carelessly tossed both drinks across Anakin, the cool liquor splattering over his abdomen, even splashing his chin, before sliding off his skin in ticklish, wet rivulets._

" _A Jedi must always keep himself tidy. You never know when you might be called on for servicing—I mean,_ _to be_ _in service of—your Master," Obi-Wan lectured disdainfully. Anakin bucked and shuddered from the sensation and pulled his arms down from under his head, giving his Master an insolent smirk from under his lashes. Propping himself up, he began licking at the drops of alcohol on his chin. His Master shook his head disapprovingly, pushing Anakin back down with the tip of his boot. Squatting once more over_ _him_ _, Obi-Wan dragged two fingers over the mess on Anakin's chest, then painted Anakin's lips with the silky liquid..._

"Oh, baby, if only you could see how delectable you are tonight." Siri's smoky voice, so distinctly _not_ like Obi-Wan's at all, startled Anakin back to a reality that disappointingly did not have his Master straddled over him, offering alcohol-sweetened fingers for Anakin to lave clean with his tongue. "Look, darling. Just look at them, all hungry and waiting to taste _you_ ," she cooed invitingly, tracing a line over his collarbone to his braid, twirling it playfully around her fingers.

Anakin lazily opened one eye and craned his head toward Siri, nodding and smiling dazedly, but only gave the crowd a cursory glance. He didn't bother searching for the one face he wanted to see, the only one _he_ was waiting for. _Oh, if only,_ Anakin thought fleetingly, sighing and resuming his position as this year's big attraction at Knights Out. Which admittedly, considering the alternative—being alone, or Force forbid, watching Master Vos sucking on Obi-Wan's face, or sucking on his— _fuck, don't even go there!_ —wasn't _so_ bad.

 _Dammit._ Desperate to wash away the sickening thought, he blindly grabbed at a bottle on the bartop, took a huge, sloshing gulp, and winced when the bottle slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor next to him. He snapped his fingers impatiently.

_"Next!"_

* * *

Wading his way through the tight crowd pressing towards the action at the far end of the bar, Quinlan watched with grudging appreciation as Siri slid off Anakin and selected a lanky dark-furred humanoid Padawan from the line, handing him the spice shaker and a shot. With his height and distinctive tattoo, Siri spotted Quin immediately, and with the hungry look of a nexu ready to pounce, she pointed first at Skywalker, then crooked an inviting finger at the Kiffar, mouthing, _"Your turn?"_

 _Don't I wish,_ Quin thought, responding to her generous 'offer' with his most insincere smile and an exaggerated two-finger salute. _Tachi's just eating this all up as a way to screw over Obi-Wan._ While he could argue with her intentions—Obi-Wan was his best friend and was clearly besotted with that shit-for-brains Padawan of his, and according to Aayla it went both ways—Quinlan sure as hell couldn't fault her methods. _Damn, if it were anyone but Chosen Boy and Kenobi, I'd be over there leading the kriffing line. And she knows it._

With an equally flippant wave, Siri blew him a kiss, tossed her hair back with a laugh, and returned her attention to the spectacle she'd so proudly created. Quinlan Vos might be the ringmaster of this circus, but she held the reins of the star attraction and planned to make the most of it.

Slowed in his progress to Siri and Skywalker by a passing conga line headed up by Mundi, Quin whistled his loud approval at the gyrating procession. When Windu cha-cha'd past him with a deliberate check to his hip, Quin returned it with a good-natured smack to the Korun's backside.

 _Wait, Windu?_ Without much hope, he quickly scanned the raucous parade of revelers... Koon...Yaddle...'Nara...Olin and Veld...but knew it was useless—he'd seen a lot of strange things at Knights Out over the years, but Surly-Wan participating in such frivolity? Not a chance.

Quin sighed and dashed between a couple of stragglers, making a straight line for Skywalker's boots, which at this point was about all he could see of the kid. With any luck, he figured Obi-Wan had finally fallen into a taxi and was on his way home to his ugly-assed robe and, if Quinlan had anything to do with it, his Padawan's bed.

 _But you gotta get that boy out of here first._ Quin scratched at his chin as he glanced around the club, assessing his options and mulling over some way to work Tachi's game to his advantage. _C'mon, Vos. You've infiltrated the Sith, Hutt cartels, and Kenobi's pants—you're the expert at the impossible. There's gotta be something that'll push those final buttons...and make us_ all _very happy Jedi tonight._

As one young Padawan awkwardly mumbled something that was intended to pass as a seduction line in her ear, Siri affected an encouraging smile even though her attention was clearly not with this boy—whose species was not readily identifiable but pleasing nevertheless— _must be some potent pheromones, mmm...but no, my sweet, you aren't my focus just now._ Just a little distraction from the impossibly-pompous Master Obi-Wan Kenobi's precious Padawan, who lay sprawled indecently across the bartop, grinning drunkenly as fellow Padawans, Knights, and even a few Masters, queued up to take their turn tasting the Chosen One. She had to admit it was a unique taste.

_Like just desserts._

Patting the young pup on the antennae, Siri strolled along the lineup, perusing beings of all ages, species, and sexual identifications, and tapped a finger thoughtfully against her lips, smirking with satisfaction. _Pity you already left, Obi-Wan. You really would have enjoyed the show—or perhaps not. I guess word of mouth—and all the little bite marks and scratches—will have to do. All those hands, all those lips, all over your precious Anakin. Humiliating, really. And positively devastating, which you have more than earned, darling._

"I hear you and the kid put on quite the show, Tachi. What you need now is a _man_ ," Quin drawled, swaggering confidently up to her near the end of the line and giving the blonde a lewd once-over, his knowing grin widening further as his eyes lifted to meet her icy glare.

Siri choked with contempt, folding her arms across her chest. " _Right_ , Vos. Do you happen to see any around, because all I see are little boys with, ahem, little toys," she lifted her chin haughtily, challenging the clearly overstated claims of the wanna-be lothario's virility.

Quinlan beamed and spread his arms wide. "Hey, baby, all the boys like my toys. The girls, too. 'Bout time you found that out, sweetheart. What do you say?" he winked encouragingly. "No need to get nasty with me, just because Kenobi didn't want to buy what you were selling. So, what, you already done with the Golden Boy there?" he asked nonchalantly, nodding over towards Anakin.

Siri followed his gaze, smiling triumphantly. "Oh, I've hardly begun. The night, like my sweet kitten, is young, and unlike some _others,_ I am willing to share my rewards." Siri purred and ran her hands coyly down Quin's chest. "As _you_ were kind enough to do for me earlier, with your surprisingly talented ex-Padawan. Aayla's delightfully...now what is the word for it? Nimble? No... Lithe?...that's not it, either... Oh, yes." She raised a provocative eyebrow, relishing Vos' rapt attention and hitch in his breath, and leaned close to his ear. " _Flexible,"_ she whispered hotly, weaving her arms up and around his shoulders.

She'd always found Vos to be well beneath her and revoltingly _simple,_ both in taste and intellect, but at the moment, with his impressively muscled stature pressed up against her, and that mangy hair of his lightly scratching and tickling the sensitive skin under her arms, she could not quite remember why. "Perhaps we should consider sharing...together, hmm?"

Quin's eyes bulged at the unexpected proposition, not to mention the extremely inconvenient, traitorous, and _pressing_ jump of a member of his personal party that had gone _hours_ without coming out to play at Knights Out. _Me, Aayla...and Tachi? Oh, kriff, Aayla's lekku and Tachi's legs, all wrapped around me...now that's some kind of Quinny sandwich!_

Quin cleared his throat gruffly, adjusting his stance in order to keep that party in his pants—for now, anyway. "Better be careful, honey. Someone might take you up on it," he advised, openly leering down Siri's barely-there blouse, which had apparently—and fortunately— _not_ been re-buttoned quite right. _Damn Kenobi, you've always been a better man than me. How in the hell did you pass this over?_

Siri ran a finger over the rough stubble on the Kiffar's chin, then over her own parted lips and down to the cleft in her chest, enjoying the prowl of Vos' hungry eyes over her. "That would be the idea, Master Vos. Unless you think it would be too much...for you..."

Quinlan groaned, letting his hands roam freely beneath the loosened hem of Siri's blouse, skimming his fingers against the outside curves of her sentries of splendor standing at attention, ready to be inspected and conquered by General Vos of the GAR. "Oh, I'm definitely _up_ to the challenge, Master Tachi," he growled in her ear, dragging his thumbs brazenly over the thin lacy film of her...whatever she had on under there, because in all his travels to various _establishments_ across this galaxy, he was sure he'd never come across one of these, because Sith _damn_ , he would have remembered.

Siri bit back the moan, unwilling to give the bastard any satisfaction—at least for now—but couldn't control the involuntary arch into Vos' surprisingly skilled hands. _Anakin, while pretty, could certainly learn a few things from this lout...hmm...now there's a lesson I wouldn't mind supervising._

Trying to wrest back some control of the situation, she peered up at the Kiffar, tracing a fingernail over one of the intricate tattoos on the man's sculpted bicep. "And so just where do you think your little Twi'lek has wandered off to? The fresher? A brothel?" She gasped, feigning concern. "Oh, dear...Kit Fisto?"

" _What?"_ Quinlan flinched, a look of alarm passing over his face. Growling, he yanked her closer, his dark expression melting into a confident smirk. "Now, why in the galaxy would she need that Nautolan, when she's got _this_ already _?_ Quinny's got everything she needs tonight, so don't you worry, Tachi. She'll be back."

Blowing ineffectively at the blonde strands that had inexplicably become entangled with his dreads and obscured his view, Quin urgently scanned the crowd over Siri's head for any sign of Aayla. Or hells, even Fisto. At this rate, he was going to need all the luck the Force had to give him in order to get Skywalker into Kenobi's bed, and Aayla into his. He wouldn't argue if the Force wanted to reward his selfless efforts with a side-order of Siri Tachi, either.

_Aayla, sweetheart, don't you make a liar out of me._

* * *

After touring the Outlander for any sign of Barriss, Kit, or anyone worth wasting her valuable time with while waiting for Quinny to get the job done, Aayla stalked up to the bar, alternatively smiling and flipping off the line of Jedi waiting to get their 30-second thrill with the hottest thing—next to her, of course—that the Order had to offer.

" _Losers_ ," she murmured with a broad smile. She reached Anakin's boot first, hooking her nails into the flesh behind his knee and digging in. "Sexy-Kin," she growled through gritted teeth.

Pouting, Anakin reluctantly sat up and blinked open his eyes. He smiled quickly to cover his disappointment at yet again losing the image of his Master sprawled all over him on the very public bar, instructing a wayward Anakin in some very uncivilized, _un_ -Obi-Wan-like lessons.

 _"Aaaaayla,"_ he sighed blithely, raking a hand through his hair and flicking his braid over his shoulder. "How's it going? Find Master Fisto yet? He's not been in line here," Anakin frowned, crinkling up his brow thoughtfully. "Well, not that I remember," he laughed drunkenly, giving up trying to count them off on his fingers. "There's been, um, a few here."

 _Baby-Kin needs to get out of here and go home, before he does something_ really _stupid._ Aayla rolled her eyes, digging her nails in yet again. "Yeah, yeah, you're so popular, everyone wants you, I get it," she said exasperatedly. "But what about Obi-Wan, huh? That's who you really want to see this, isn't it? Listen up, stupid: your Master went home already. So if you're putting on your little show for him, it's too late, OK?"

It was a lie, a _tiny_ little white lie, but for all Aayla knew, Master Kenobi _had_ gone back to the Temple; she'd not seen him since she spotted him with Master Windu, and that had been a while now. She had to admit that, despite her personal aversion to any kind of exclusivity—the galaxy was an endless buffet with an infinite supply of cuisine to be sampled—she was very fond of the hopelessly romantic dumbass fucking up his existence—along with her night—on the bar in front of her, and did want to help him. Even if getting Anakin out of here would also help Quinny get that much closer to getting _her_. Not that it would necessarily be a bad thing; she just relished the chase and had no intention of being a one-night wonder for Quinlan Vos. He could be _her_ one-night wonder. Maybe two.

_Definitely not more than three._

Scowling, Anakin rubbed the back of a hand over his eyes. "Prolly went home with _your_ Masser," he muttered jealously, recalling the way Master Vos' hands were all over Obi-Wan's... _everything._

"Hmm..." Aayla hummed with a noncommittal shrug of her slim shoulders, giving the impression that Quinny had indeed slunk out of here with Anakin's Master in tow. Giving her friend as much of a sympathetic smile as she could under the circumstances—fondness aside, Anakin had _definitely_ been a pain in her very comely ass that night, and it was high time he stopped harshing her buzz at her first Knights Out as a full-fledged Jedi Knight. "Come on, you know this game of 'Who's Who of the Temple' isn't what you really want, even if right now Quinny's back in _your_ quarters, drilling _your_ Master into _your_ mattress."

Anakin choked. " _My_ mattress?" A totally unwelcome image invaded his already overactive imagination, one swirling with dark dreadlocks, guttural thrusts, and cultured, mannered cursing amid his model starships, techno-fusion posters, and broken droid components. He felt his stomach lurch sickeningly. "Force, Aayla. _Shut up,_ would you?"

Aayla reached out and yanked hard on his braid. "Hey, I'm not that thrilled about it either—remember, that's _my_ Master, too, you know. But _I'm_ not the one making an ass out of myself with the entire Jedi Order, trying to hurt him." She frowned, smoothing her hand down his braid, using the tip to brush affectionately at his cheek. "Come on, haven't you done enough damage for one night? It's like you guys are sparring with blindfolds on—eventually someone's going to get hurt."

With a naughty wink, she ran her blue-pink tongue over her top lip while brushing her hand up Anakin's thigh, giving it a firm, encouraging squeeze. "Maybe you should think about putting those blindfolds to better use...and with _different_ lightsabers...?"

Anakin squirmed, sighing dreamily at idea of his Master in a blindfold, offering to spar...no, _demanding_ to spar, only...yes, yes, blindfolded and naked...no, forget sparring...blindfolded, naked, sweaty combat training on the mat...rolling around, pressed chest to chest... _yes..._

He gave a little shake to his head, trying to focus on the gorgeous Twi'lek in front of him, wishing to all hells for her, for anything, to make him forget Obi-Wan. Acting on thoughtless impulse, he boldly reached over and drew one of her lekku into his palm, expertly manipulating the tip just as she'd taught him last year in the 'fresher. "Could show _you_ my 'saber, Aayla. Wanna s-spar?"

Lightning fast, Aayla's fingers were around his wrist. She bared her teeth, giving him a look that was anything but inviting as she pried away his presumptive hand. "Hey, sleemo, hands _off_. These?" She took a step back and tossed the pleasingly plump appendages over her shoulders, preening and posing as the attentive crowd behind her whistled, honked, and tweetled their appreciation. "Are _so_ not for you tonight. What you want is _cock,_ and honey, that's about the one thing this Twi'lek _doesn't_ have. Get out of here. _Go home,_ find that kriffing-hot repressed mess of a Master of yours who, incidentally, _has a cock_."

 _I want more than that, Aayla. Just can't have it, that's all. So I gotta take whatever I can get._ Anakin tilted his head to the side, quirking his lips into a smirk. _"_ Plenty of cock here tonight, Aayla. Other stuff, too. Why leave now, when I can get all I want here, huh?" He patted her on the shoulder reassuringly and tried to look serious, but the copious amounts of alcohol made his face too lax, resulting in something not too unlike an expression the Twi'lek had observed on many a lascivious Hutt. "S'ok, Aayla," he slurred, swaying close and bumping his forehead against hers unintentionally. " _Ow._ T-tonight's all about _me_ having fun. And I am, _really_. Just look around, who wouldn't have fun?"

He broke into laughter as Aayla scowled and roughly shoved him out of her face. "Hey! Anyone here _not_ having fun?" he hollered to his captive audience, grabbing another shot and downing it to their roaring approval.

" _Whatever_ , I am _so_ done here," Aayla huffed, jabbing Anakin squarely in the thigh, only mildly satisfied when he cried out in protest. "Good luck," was all she offered as she moved aside for the next patron. _Can't help the helpless, and Sexy, you are_ beyond _help. Now, where's Kit? Quinny? Charity work's over, this girl's_ earned _a good time tonight._

* * *

 A growing, rumbling murmur in the crowd behind her and Quin annoyingly pulled Siri away from delectable thoughts of dominating both this beast of a man and her skittish kitten. Curious now, her eyes slid over to the erratic weaving and jostling of the beings surrounding them, catching strains of offended protests and drunken threats in a remarkable number of languages.

When she recognized the inimitably polished voice that had haunted her for years—even when it was professing awkwardly sweet endearments in her naïve teenage ears—she bit her lip gleefully, thanking the Force for this very unexpected and timely gift.

_Oh, you really are a glutton for punishment, Obi-Wan. And I am far too pleased to be the one to deliver it. Pity; had I known, perhaps things would have turned out differently for us years ago._

"'Scuse me, pardon me, please...no really, I'm looking for Master Vos...excuse me, 'm sorry, no, I most certainly am not interested in _that..._ oh,my apologies, I assumed you meant me... Can anyone point me toward Quinlan Vos? I really must find—" Obi-Wan burst out of the crowd, tripping over the undulating tail of a Thisspiasian to fall hard against the backside of a tall, dark, unyielding frame. Boots slipping in the indignant being's slime trail, he pulled himself into an upright position and attempted to straighten his shirt in what he thought was a dignified manner.

 _Perhaps those Selonian Shooters were not the most prudent choice,_ he fleetingly considered, putting his hand over his mouth to cover an unwieldy belch, followed immediately by a raucous hiccup. " _Completely_ uncivilized," he murmured with a disdainful frown, as he carefully maneuvered his way around the black wall of leather and muscle that he knew could only be Quinlan Vos. _And that vest, who else would go bare-chested in a leather fringe vest?_ Obi-Wan hiccuped again, pushing his disheveled hair out of his eyes as he looked up at the Kiffar, smiling with obvious relief.

"Master Vos! At last!"

Quinlan took one look at Obi-Wan, forcing himself to flash his most charming smile even as he was muttering some choice Huttese through gritted teeth. Obi-Wan was _smashed._ No, Obi-Wan wasn't just smashed, he was actually falling-down piss drunk _._ And after years of frequenting innumerable cantinas across the galaxy with Obi-Wan Kenobi, experience warned Quin that Tipsy-Wan was entertaining for exactly five short minutes, until he got some buzz droid up his exhaust port over something or other, and Pissy-Wan took over. _"Stang,"_ Quin sighed under his breath; this whole scene with Siri was just _begging_ for an appearance by Pissy-Wan.

"Uh...yeah...here I am, wow, you found me!" Quin agreed hastily, all while trying to peel Siri off him, but she was clinging to him worse than any case of Intergalactic Clap he'd ever picked up. He shot her a pleading look, which she returned with feigned wide-eyed innocence, snuggling up to him even more. When she ran a single clandestine finger down the length of his half-hard cock, he could only manage to choke out a garbled, "Hey, uh! Um...I thought you'd gone on?"

Accustomed to finding his philandering friend in any number of indecent situations, Obi-Wan paid little more than polite regard to Quinlan's latest conquest and continued on, taking no notice of the man's odd behavior— _Quin_ and _odd_ were virtually indistinguishable even outside of Knights Out. "Not when...there's...trouble..." he panted helpfully, ready to aid Quinlan in any way he needed, and definitely eager to postpone the lonely evening promised to him later.

 _Another night alone...the model of chastity personified...without Anakin, or anyone else, for that matter._ He struggled to return his focus away from his mind's seditious thoughts of whatever vulgar, inappropriate, and most assuredly carnal activities the young man was undoubtedly, and probably currently, engaged in. _With that harlot Siri, or perhaps he's gone on to his Nubian Nightmare? Hells, he's probably with her and her entire entourage of lookalikes—a Padmé for every night of the kriffing week._ He scowled in revulsion at the invasive image of a harem of identical women in disturbingly complex hair arrangements and matching tasteless lingerie, all with the same eerie robotic voice promising various acts of depravity to an eager and agreeable Anakin.

_Just help Quinlan, and then get the hell out of here. You don't belong here, you never did._

Obi-Wan shoved down the powerful wave of self-pity, returning his attention to the scene at hand, trying to assess whatever problem or situation Quinlan had been called away to tend. Holding back another threatening hiccup, he looked around...and blinked, hard. And blinked again, not trusting the information his admittedly impaired senses were providing. No apparent brawling between any of the more combative species...no illicit activities—which would have to be beyond the pale to be outlawed at Knights Out...no sign of Kit Fisto...nothing to warrant a security call. Just Quinlan, standing here seemingly in one piece, with his arms full of...

 _No._ Obi-Wan squinted, tilting his head in confused disbelief, unable to process what he was supposedly seeing. _No. This is...no._ He blinked again, cursing the alcohol still waging war on his normally acute senses, then stood back stiffly when the scene in front of him finally came into terrifying focus. _Quinlan...is with Siri._ Siri! _The bloody degenerate's emergency is_ her?

He fixed Quin with what he hoped was his most formidable _'General Kenobi of the Republic'_ glare, though if his blurred vision was any indication, it was probably more akin to _'Glassy-Eyed Spice Addict'_. "Yes...well, I gather that would have been in...finitely more convenient for you, wouldn't it, _my old friend_? But you see, my conscience got the better of me, and _if you can imagine_ , I thought you might actually...need my help." He pursed his lips, gesturing scornfully at the lamentable affliction draped all over the other man. "Though it seems you... _indeed..._ have the situation _in hand_."

Siri trilled with delight, thoroughly amused by the addled emotional state the normally insufferably responsible and balanced Jedi Master Kenobi was in. "You know, Obi-Wan, your jealousy this evening is truly remarkable. While I understand your...disappointment...with being cast aside by not only your Padawan, but now your...what did you call him?... _date?..._ and finding them both preferring _my_ company...well..."

She curved her lips into a seemingly commiserating frown. "I suppose it's a natural reaction to so much rejection in such a short amount of time, darling." Cuddling against Quinlan's shoulder, she dropped the sympathetic pretence. "Trust me, my dear Obi-Wan, I'm taking very good care of them. As you pointed out, they've _both_ been in my _very_ good hands."

Quin flinched with growing discomfort, surreptitiously trying to separate the blonde hellion from him in a manner that did not in any way constitute rejection or disinterest on his part. Quinlan Vos was no fool—he'd had a front row seat all night to Siri's vengeance against Obi-Wan for snubbing her in front of all the other Masters. Between hosting Knights Out, trying to seal the deal with Aayla, and now playing matchmaker/referee/fucking soul healer to Kenobi and Skywalker, he didn't need the added complication of a hell-bent maneater like Tachi turning on him. Not when he was _this close_ to partaking in the woman's rumored mastery of some Force skills that Quin figured were not only against the Code, but probably a criminal offense in several star systems. Steeling himself, Quin pulled back from Siri and turned to face the Wrath of Kenobi. Still, he couldn't resist letting his hand fall low to discreetly palm over the kriffing marvelous curve of her backside.

"Listen, Obi-Wan. Me and Tachi...we were just..." he shrugged sheepishly, withering a little when the other man just folded his arms across his chest and raised his eyebrow expectantly. Quinlan began to fidget, literally caught between the two people who had the power to eviscerate him, if only to get in a shot at each other.

"Man, come on. It's _Knights Out,_ " he whined, as though he needed no other excuse or explanation for getting caught feeling up his best friend's ex and nemesis. "And-and-and besides, I thought we agreed you'd go _home_ , to wait for...you know..." he hinted suggestively, waggling his eyebrows. "Remember, Horny Healer? Pet the Padawan? Mind the Master—"

" _Quinlan!"_ Obi-Wan hissed in warning, not in any way wanting to discuss his...relationship— _you mean non-relationship, you old fool—_ with Anakin, certainly not in front of Siri, not when _she'd_ had more of a relationship with his Padawan _tonight_ than he could ever hope to have, outside of his increasingly frequent and disturbingly inappropriate hallucinations.

Undaunted, and fortified by the potent cocktail of bitterness, jealousy, and embarrassment swirling through him, he turned his building acrimony on the one person because of whom he'd suffered the most this wretched evening. _Next to yourself, Kenobi. Never underestimate your gift for self-inflicted pain and humiliation._

" _Trust_ you, Siri? Oh, I don't think so. I trust you about as much as I trust this one," he jabbed an accusing finger at Quinlan, "to refrain from leering at your chest like he's about to dive right in and devour them. Honestly, Quinlan, they're just _breasts_. Your maternal-replacement fixation is rather disturbing, you do realize?"

Quin grinned wickedly and nodded, stealing another appreciative look. "Hey, man, I know you're not much of a connoisseur these days, what with your boy, you know, not having them, but let me tell you, these are _really_ —"

" _Quinlan."_ Obi-Wan put a hand out, trying to ward off any further commentary about Siri Tachi's...anything. Quin was right about one thing—Obi-Wan had no interest in anything having to do with Siri. Or anyone else, for that matter. All he wanted, what he'd wanted for so long, what he came here tonight to _forget_ , was what he couldn't have.

_Anakin._

Pulling away from Quin, Siri narrowed her eyes dangerously. "You know, Obi-Wan, just because you're too...impotent...to indulge in your feelings, doesn't mean others are similarly impaired."

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, refusing to let her see how close the remark had hit. "My immunity to your...charms...does not reflect an impotency on my part, Siri. More like...indifference. Or revulsion." He smiled coyly, gesturing toward her companion. "You may ask Quinlan, if you like, as to how impotent I was earlier this evening. I assure you, I was anything but impaired."

Siri's lips flattened in distaste. "As if it takes any skill getting Quinlan Vos to fuck you," she laughed, waving him off dismissively.

"Oh, honey, _please._ As if it takes _any_ skill getting Siri Tachi to fuck you." A shrill laugh pierced the air as Aayla strolled up, twirling the stick of the hard confectionery in her mouth. With a wet pop, she let it slip from her pursed lips, turning a disapproving frown at her former Master. "Really, Quinny? Now _you're_ slumming it with this _schutta_? There is no way you're getting anywhere near me without a full tox screen—Force knows what she's carrying."

Her face contorting into a mask of anger, Siri took a step forward and raised her hand, ready to strike, only to find it suddenly restrained. "Don't even _think_ about it," Quin's deep voice growled into her ear. Startled, she twisted around and matched the Kiffar's dark warning look with one of her own.

Trying somewhat to diffuse the situation—at this point, he really didn't need anything else kriffing up his plans with Aayla, plans that if he was lucky, would also include Tachi—Quin positioned himself between the two women, looking from Aayla to Siri, a lopsided grin quirking his lips. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, ladies. If you wanted to wrestle, you know, to work off all this sexual tension, all you needed to do was ask. I can have the mud pit set up in minutes," he offered eagerly, reaching with his free hand for his comm. "Clothing is optional, of course. What do you say?"

Aayla choked out a derisive laugh, reaching up with a patronizing pat to Quin's shoulder. "Dream on, Quinny," she sighed. Out of the others' line of sight, she gave her former Master a threatening look and a nod toward the bar. _"Do something. NOW."_ she mouthed, popping the confectionery back in her mouth.

Siri yanked her hand free and smoothed her hands down over her blouse and skirt, reminded that her previous assessment of the man had been far too generous. "More unfulfilled fantasies? Grow up, Vos. Isn't it about time you started acting your age?"

"One could say the same for you, Siri," Obi-Wan cut in disparagingly, indicating her bevy of admirers lingering nearby, all with dermal afflictions, gangly limbs, and preciously short Padawan braids betraying their youth. During Aayla's arrival and magnificently disrespectful commentary—no surer indication she really _was_ Quinlan Vos' Padawan—Obi-Wan had been anxiously scanning the area for any sign of Anakin.

"Do tell, not that I am surprised in the least that you have solicited yet another client this evening, but what have you done with my Padawan? Finished with him so soon?" Obi-Wan inquired, hoping his attempt at nonchalance veiled the apprehension underlying his curiosity.

"Well, now that you mention it, I do seem to have _misplaced_ my darling Anakin," Siri remarked drolly, sighing and looking beyond Obi-Wan toward the black boot currently stomping in time to the relentless beat of the music. "Though I'm sure he's being thoroughly entertained," she added distractedly, watching that boot suddenly jerk and flail as a pretty little Mon Cal's plump fishy lips went to work.

Quin shot Siri another warning look, stepping between the two. "H-hey, now, Obi-Wan. You know Skywalker—he's probably off getting a drink, or maybe out dancing, hey, you know, I bet he's in the 'fresher." He winced at the annoyed alarm on Obi-Wan's face. "No. I mean, you know, to actually _use_ the fresher," he clarified quickly with a nervous grin.

Quin's eyes slid toward the bar, then back to Aayla, giving her a skeptical shrug. Tuning out the obvious arrival of Pissy-Wan—he _almost_ felt a little sorry for Tachi—Quin looked around for anything that might give him a plan, before Obi-Wan saw that dumbass boytoy on the bar and things got _completely_ out of hand.

_Unless..._

His eyes landed on an inspired solution, one with a distinctive streak of gold in an otherwise unremarkable, if not perfectly styled, brown head of hair. _Maybe things_ need _to get out of hand._ Quin couldn't stop the devilish smirk. _Of course. Vos, you're a genius._

Quin fished his comm out of his vest, improvising an emergency call. "Yeah? Okay, be right there." With a helpless gesture, he mumbled something about being right back, giving Aayla a conspiratorial wink. Slinking away from the brewing melee, he pulled aside his would-be savior and leaned in close, whispering animatedly while shoving a handful of drink credits in the front pocket of the young Knight's trousers, and clapped him gratefully on the back. _Well, here goes everything. If this works, everyone wins. If it doesn't..._

He didn't bother finishing the thought.

He returned to the group just in time to hear Obi-Wan fire off another zinger, something about Tachi's boots, felony solicitation, and the District's pleasure workers lined up just around the corner from the Outlander. So her boots _happened_ to be thigh-high. So they _might_ look like something he'd seen once or twice while 'reconnoitering' some of the lower levels. Quin really didn't understand what the problem was.

"Everything _okay_ , Quinny?" Aayla asked loudly, cutting off another round of sniping by the two Jedi Masters she'd been left to babysit; apparently she had nothing better to do this night than act as a **crèche** ling master for the romantically dysfunctional. She placed her hands on her hips, eyes wide and expectant as her former Master reappeared at her side wearing an extremely smug grin.

Obi-Wan noticed the strange look that passed between Quin and Aayla, realizing belatedly that while he'd been suffering Siri's laser-precise cuts at seemingly every insecurity Obi-Wan had ever had about himself, Quin had stepped away on a call.

"Quin? Is there a problem?" he inquired almost too eagerly, feeling a twinge of guilt that he was actually hoping for some kind of trouble, anything to provide a distraction and excuse to relieve himself of this entire nightmarish affair.

Quin chewed at the inside of his cheek, glancing over the crowd to the bar and then back to his best friend. His drunk, lovesick, really-in-need-of-a-fuck-not-provided-by-me best friend. _No time like the present._

"Not...exactly? Just something that needs some...attention." With a smirk over his shoulder at Aayla, he grabbed Obi-Wan by the arm and started dragging him around party-goers toward the bar where the cheering was getting louder by the second.

"What's going on?" Obi-Wan asked suspiciously, straining to see over the rest of the crowd in the direction the commotion. He might be more intoxicated than he could recall in recent memory, but he still could spot Quinlan Vos' attempt at discretion, which generally meant none at all. He could never add up how Quin had become so skilled at espionage when the man was almost always the first to lose at strip poker. Obi-Wan frowned; given Quin's comfort with his own nudity, perhaps he was an accomplished bluffer, after all.

Judging by the increasingly agitated mood of the crowd, it seemed Quin was guiding them toward the disturbance, whatever it was. "It must be serious, if _you're_ worried about it," Obi-Wan quipped, grimacing as they slid between two topless females sharing an enthusiastic embrace, one of whom he recognized with a shudder as Quin's redheaded groupie from earlier in the evening.

Quin nodded his hello, stealing a quick kiss from the young woman and then encouraging the pair to make sure to look him up later, even as he kept moving. "Oh, someone's on the bar, letting all comers take body shots," he replied casually. "It's nothing serious, I just don't want a stampede because this asshat's got everyone worked into a lather. It's enough work keeping things _semi-_ legal at Knights Out," he laughed ruefully, turning back to Obi-Wan. "Remember the year they served that 'discount' ale, and it was spiked with ryll? _Kriff_ , that was a good night. And the old story about why pyrotechnics were banned years back? I still think that's when Windu lost his hair, I'm just saying."

"Oh, and I wonder just why I stopped coming to Knights Out," Obi-Wan remarked sarcastically, scanning the bar area for the delinquent attendee. "Well, that explains the fervor of this crowd," he shouted over another roar and surge of the bodies pressed close all around them. "What's the plan? I assume you _do_ have one?"

Quin gave him a lopsided grin. "You know, they didn't put me in charge of this gig just because I'm a pretty face, Sassy-Wan. Since I'm _obviously_ the better, stronger, and taller of us—what? You know it's true—I'll perform crowd control, and you can get the asshat off the bar. You can handle just _one_ drunk with a god-complex, right?" Quin baited his friend, knowing there was no way Obi-Wan's epic sense of duty, along with his injured pride, would deter Master General Jedi Kenobi from completing his mission.

" _Yes,"_ Obi-Wan replied testily, affronted by yet another jibe about his deficit in size and strength compared to the hulking Kiffar. "While I have given up trying to procure any kind of _proper_ companionship this evening," he eyed Quinlan meaningfully, "I do believe I'm capable—as my ever-caring Master once described me—of removing one overindulgent hooligan, thank you very much."

Groaning and stopping in his tracks, Quin turned and regarded Obi-Wan with a sad shake of his head. _Aww, seriously? Now he's bitching about Qui-Gon and the 'capable' thing? This whole thing's running on vapors if Pity-Wan's worked himself up to that already._ "Kriff, you're never going to let that one go, are you?" Quin appealed to Obi-Wan's lurking sense of humor to try to banish Pissy-Wan from the party. "You know Qui-Gon and Tholme were high as fucking skyhooks on those Felucian mushrooms Dex cooked up for them when he said that."

Obi-Wan snorted and stumbled right into Quin, clumsily snapping his fingers on the third try. "Oh, that's right! And you...Tholme chased you around with his lightsaber, insisting your head was covered with venomous Kashyykian vine snakes!" He doubled over, chortling at the memory of a couple of seared-off ends of dreadlock being stomped to death under the bare feet of their two normally reserved Masters.

"Yeah, yeah. See, 'capable' doesn't seem so bad now, does it?" Quin retorted, petting lovingly over a handful of his distinctive hair. He hauled Obi-Wan up with a pat on the back. "Now, come on. Let's get this done, and then you, my friend, can go home. Alrighty?"

Even though Quin sounded frighteningly logical to Obi-Wan, considering most of his requests of Obi-Wan this evening—dancing...an orgy...a striptease...coming here in the first place—Obi-Wan knew the other man would not have asked for help unless he really needed it. With a chivalrous lift of his chin, his sense of duty kicked in as always, even when this inebriated, and Obi-Wan Kenobi was ready for service.

"Proceed," he ordered in as low and serious a voice as he could manage, choking back the bubble of laughter that followed his officious pronouncement. _Anakin thinks I can't be fun? Oh, I can be fun!_

Though they were but a short distance from the bar, their progress was slow, given the density of the throng, and following the tall Kiffar meant Obi-Wan's view was blocked until they were right in the heart of the action. Looking around the boisterous, cheering masses, Obi-Wan saw an amazing cross-section of the Jedi population. Padawans, Knights, Masters, humans, humanoids, and non-humanoids, in all states of dress and inebriation, all transfixed on a point Obi-Wan had yet to make out.

Raising an eyebrow over at Quin, Obi-Wan was surprised he could feel, even through his strong shields, the waves of titillating excitement radiating from each one of them. It was apparently the highlight of the evening so far, though he wondered what it said about his fellow Jedi that they were so entranced by the performance of a lone deviant on some disgustingly tacky bar, when Knights Out offered so many other dubious diversions and entertainments.

With Obi-Wan distracted, Quin sent a not-exactly-inconspicuous signal over to his unwitting accomplice, tracing his finger along his tattoo and over his nose, tapping twice on the side. He'd not even had to explain _why_ he needed this particular favor, only that he'd be helping out a Master, and the damn ass-kisser fell all over himself to help. The extra drink credits had been, of course, to help his accomplice _forget_ just which Master had asked for the favor in the first place...just in case.

Taking a deep breath, Quin swung around suddenly, putting both hands on Obi-Wan's shoulders, and leaned in to the shorter man's face. "Ready?" he asked seriously, staring deep into his friend's bleary green eyes. _I hope you are, my friend. And if not, I hope you won't hold a grudge for too long._

"Of course, Master Vos," Obi-Wan replied just as seriously, though his lips rebelliously curved into a drunken smirk and he laughed again. It was like old times, back when they were younger and he often-willingly followed Quinlan into some kind of misguided adventure. Doing his best to embrace those warm memories, Obi-Wan let himself sink into the comfortable, familiar mantle of Jedi Master, ready to restore law, order, and justice to the Republic.

Or to Knights Out, anyway.

"Lead the way."

* * *

Catching Master Vos' signal, and armed with enough drink credits to knock out a bantha, Ferus Olin bribed his way to the front of the line, proud to be of service when called upon by a Master. He poured out his shot, not wasting a single drop—Ferus was never careless— and hopped up on the bar. "Yo, Skywalker. Think you can meet up later in the alpha 'fresher?"

Anakin smirked and squinted open an eye. " _Olin._ Figured you'd be back around sometime. Looking for a repeat of last year?" he gasped defiantly, as Ferus' tongue moved wet and warm up his abdomen.

Ferus peered up and smirked in return. "You know it." He took the shaker, raining spice down the painstakingly drawn line he'd made with his tongue. As in all things, Ferus took his time, proud of his precision and dedication to doing things the right way.

"Yeah, well, this time, it's gonna be _you_ on your knees, got it? And make it the beta 'fresher—I heard Madame Nu's in the alpha—unless you're into that sort of thing now?" Anakin demanded, sucking in his breath as Ferus' tongue diligently lapped at his navel, taking care to remove all traces of spice from the indentation.

"You wish, asshole." Ferus continued his trek upward, pausing to conscientiously lick at the hollow of Anakin's neck.

"Y-you're the one here, Olin. Besides, you owe me," Anakin insisted, sinking his fingers into that stupid gold ribbon of hair that Olin insisted was genetic. Anakin always figured it was some lame-ass attempt at rebellion. _Only someone like Olin would think messing with his hair was an act of defiance. Or someone like my Master,_ he imagined, recalling the different lengths and styles his Master had gone through, not to mention that bristly thing that took up residence on his face. _Not that I mind_ _the beard_ _so much anymore...fuck, how it would feel, down there, against my—_

Anakin swore loudly, enjoying Olin's mouth a kriffing lot more when it _wasn't_ talking.

* * *

With a rough shove, Quinlan switched places with Obi-Wan so that the shorter man's view of the bar was unimpeded. Obi-Wan swayed a little, steadied himself yet again, and admiringly took in the black leather-clad legs of the person on the bar. _Hmm, leather certainly does work on some people_ , he observed, deliberately _not_ thinking of anyone in particular.

_Enough. Let's get this over with._

Obi-Wan tilted his head, and squinted, slowly taking a step forward toward the two bodies, feeling himself as mesmerized as the crowd around him by the nearly voyeuristic experience of witnessing something so patently salacious. One body had the other pinned down, the spice he was shaking over the other sparkling in the play of lights as it fell.

When the young man on top sat back to set aside the spice, Obi-Wan gaped in shock. There was Ferus Olin, whose fidelity to the Code and the Jedi Order made Obi-Wan look irreverent and spontaneous in comparison, dragging his tongue around the naked undulating torso of—

Obi-Wan's hand slowly drew up to cover his mouth, his breath stolen from him completely. There in a shimmering pool of light, covered in spice and Force-knew what else, lying with his hands behind his head while lifting his hips to sway to the music, was Anakin. _Anakin._ Prostituting himself in public for nothing more than the illicit thrill. Engaging in behavior that Obi-Wan had never even imagined. And it looked like it might just be the happiest he had ever seen Anakin outside of his blasted ship.

_Well, you wanted to know where he was. Congratulations._

Quin watched Obi-Wan's reaction curiously, and waited. When the other man continued to just stand there and stare, Quin rolled his eyes, leaning down next to his ear and nudging him, prepared to give his best speech yet. "So, you gonna do something about that? Are you gonna _discipline_ him? Make him regret coming here tonight and _lying_ to you about it? Make him wish he had stayed _home_? With you, where he _belongs_?"

Quin had moved behind him, trailing his hands up and down Obi-Wan's arms and shoulders, emphasizing the words ' _discipline,_ _'_ _'_ _lying,_ _'_ _'_ _belongs,_ _'_ and ' _home,_ _'_ trying to finally push Obi-Stuck Kenobi past his own barriers and into something completely impulsive and completely necessary. _And you will thank me for it with lots, and lots, and lots of details, Kenobi._

He winked at Aayla, who frowned sullenly, clearly unimpressed with his efforts so far. But Quin figured Obi-Wan was pretty damn wound up by now, if the clenched fists and terse jaw-grinding were anything to go by. Scrubbing a hand over his chin to disguise his amusement, Quin inclined his head toward the ongoing fiasco playing out in front of them.

"I wouldn't let my Padawan sell himself on the bar like that. All those mouths..." He shuddered theatrically, clearing his throat to cover his bubbling laughter, knowing _that_ one would definitely get at Fussy-Wan's distaste for the unsanitary. "Betcha Siri put him up to it, you think? I mean, isn't that Olin up there, too, having a taste of your boy? You'd better put a stop to that shavit, man."

Quin shuffled Obi-Wan toward the bar, figuring nature would take care of things from here. If the alcohol, the jealousy, the friendly prodding, and the incredibly sexy sight of Skywalker working it on the bar didn't do it, _nothing_ would.

"Enjoying the show, are we, gentlemen?" Siri, with Aayla's white stilettos clicking right behind her, intercepted the two men, craning her neck to follow their line of sight. "My, it does seem that you've finally located your astray Padawan, Obi-Wan. And oh, is that my Ferus?" she asked with a kind of wicked innocence, slanting her gaze over at Obi-Wan and the stunned shock on Kenobi's normally impassive features. "I know you were concerned about his whereabouts, so you must be thrilled to find Ferus taking such good _care_ of Anakin, yes?"

Aayla pushed her way past the other woman, stomping up to her ex-Master and punching him solidly in the gut. "You have _no_ idea how much I hate you right now," she growled, taking a handful of dreadlocks and yanking Quin's ear down near her mouth. "This disaster of a Knights Out is _all_ your fault, so you better damn well fix it," she threatened under her breath, taking in the mag-lev train wreck all around them. "Or the _entire_ deal is off, and I'm heading out for Muunilinst at dawn to find Kit. Got it?"

Grunting, Quin rubbed his abdomen, glancing over at the mess of Skywalker still draped all over the bar, still wearing that same stupid punch-drunk grin, oblivious to all this Galactic Opera that had been going on all damn night because of his pretty Chosen ass. "Alright, sweetheart, alright."

_Obi-Wan, man...I hate to do this, but you need a kick in that Sith-damn stubborn ass of yours. Time to haul out the heavy artillery._

Leaning close, Quin pursed his lips comically, smacking them in Aayla's face. "Give your Quinny a kiss for luck?" He chuckled at the look of pure derision the Twi'lek gave him along with a saucy flounce of her lekku. "No? Well, watch this. You'll change your tune," he promised, stepping back with a bow and disappearing into the crowd unnoticed.

Nodding mutely, Obi-Wan turned slowly, his mind barely able to function coherently through the haze of disbelief and fury. He glared daggers at the blonde, struggling to form the words. "Y-you. _You_ did this."

Siri regarded him with genuine surprise. "Actually...no, I didn't," she admitted, eyeing Vos slipping away, wondering just what he was up to, since this little scene he'd so obviously engineered—Ferus excelled at many things, but lacked the spontaneity and ruthless guile for something like this, Force bless him—was doing nothing but benefiting her vendetta against Vos' supposed best friend.

"Well, not by myself, at least. Though it was _delicious_ fun, Obi-Wan, and Anakin was such an eager student. Mmm...as you can see for yourself, he's a natural...talent."

Without conscious permission on his part, Obi-Wan's eyes were drawn back to the lurid spectacle, watching Anakin writhe under the movement of Ferus' tongue, the lights reflecting the sheen of the line Ferus was marking up Anakin's chest. "F-Ferus is _your_ Padawan, Siri." It was too much, far too much, and yet Obi-Wan couldn't look away—even if he closed his eyes, he knew he'd see it forever.

" _Was,_ Obi-Wan. And I don't control him. Just as you, apparently, cannot control _your_ Padawan," Siri pointed out, her tone one of cold mirth and satisfaction in a job well done. _I will definitely have to properly thank that imbecile Vos later._

Nothing could have prepared Obi-Wan to witness Anakin performing this kind of overtly sensual, sexual display in front of the entire Jedi Order. This was raw...shameless...erotic...hypnotic... This was _Anakin,_ his Padawan, up there, doing _that._ And obviously enjoying it, he observed, as Anakin readily accepted both a piece of fruit and Ferus' mouth against his. Obi-Wan's face flushed hot with arousal and embarrassment in equal measure, and his hand shot up as though physically pushing away the sight.

"Indeed. Nothing could be more apparent," he muttered angrily, dipping his chin as he turned away from both Anakin's indecency and Siri's gloating. Did it really matter _who_ was up there with Anakin? It wasn't Obi-Wan. It would _never_ be Obi-Wan.

_I can't see any more of this, I refuse to watch another take their fill of Anakin like that. I have to—_

"—leave. Quin, I'm sorry, but—" Stumbling backward, Obi-Wan blindly reached for Quinlan, spinning around to where the man had just been standing. _"Quin?"_ Irritated now, he scowled as he scanned the nearby area, fully expecting the impetuous rogue to be groping Siri, Ayala, hells, probably both of them, but found both women surprisingly unmolested. "Blast it all, where did he—?"

Siri's eyes widened as she looked beyond Obi-Wan, while Aayla gave him a look of pure pity. "What now? Where is he?" he demanded impatiently, desperate to make his leave from this hideous scene once and for all, to run home and hide and sulk and rage and hopefully pass out _for days_. "I swear, if he ran off to chase some pretty little twink—" he huffed as he spun around.

Through the veil of red descending across his vision, Obi-Wan beheld both Quinlan _and_ his pretty little twink, bitterly recognizing that the Force had decided she was not _quite_ done pissing on Obi-Wan Kenobi just yet.

* * *

"So...0100 hours? Think that'll give you enough time to finish up here, Chosen One?" Ferus downed his shot and shoved the bit of fruit in Anakin's mouth, causing him to mumble his response. Lowering his mouth to Anakin's, he sucked the juice gently, neatly from the fruit; it wouldn't be proper to leave a mess behind. "What was that? I didn't copy."

Anakin rolled his eyes, turning to spit out the fruit. "Asshole. I _said_ , make it 0130. And remember, it's _my_ turn this time."

Ferus placed a finger against Anakin's bottom lip, dragging it through the shiny wetness. "But Skywalker, you're so very, very good at it. And besides," he took hold of Anakin's braid, giving it a tug, " _I_ don't have one of these anymore."

Anakin bucked up, trying to dislodge Ferus. "Oh, _fine_ ," he sighed, shoving at the bossy prick, annoyed at how easily he'd capitulated to the older Knight. _Probably because he's almost as pompous and irritating and repressed as Obi-Wan._ Anakin made a face, finding this comparison between the two disturbing. Still... _I wonder if I could convince Olin to use an accent next time..._ "Get off me, asshole. Later," he said dismissively, closing his eyes and settling back into position.

"Later," Ferus agreed, sliding off his sometime-rival/'fresher buddy just as Master Vos approached. "Evening, Master," he intoned with a deferential bow as they traded spots, satisfied by the completion of his mission, not to mention the appointment he'd been able to arrange for later. Skywalker was undoubtedly the most cocky, arrogant, undisciplined member of the Jedi Order, but Ferus benevolently chose to overlook those shortcomings in favor of allowing the Chosen One to practice and hone some of his other skills.

Checking his chrono, Ferus set his alarm for 0130. Heading out to find Tru, he passed by Master Siri and waved, wondering idly who the staggering mess of a guy was pointing a finger in her face. He chuckled and kept moving, knowing Siri Tachi could definitely take care of herself.

* * *

Quin quickly poured out two shots, downing one immediately—one way or the other, he was going to need it. Figuring he was on borrowed time, he skipped mounting the bar, opting instead to ambush Skywalker. "You don't know it yet, kid, but I'm about to change your life."

Anakin snorted, not opening his eyes as he waved off his latest patron's wishful boast. " _Riiiight._ Y'know how many times I've heard that tonight? Got anything better than that?" he slurred distractedly, still caught up in some kind of endless loop of fantasies that had degenerated into something involving a blindfolded, bearded Olin sucking him off in a training salle while Madame Nu and Windu rated them on scorecards. Of course, fucking Olin scored a perfect 10. Asshole.

Quin snorted in return, almost wistfully gazing over what he was about to have, but what would definitely never be _his._ _Kenobi, you're one lucky bastard._ He smirked proudly. _To have me for a friend, that is._

"As a matter of fact, you little cock-tease, I do." With a quick glance back to make sure his efforts did not go unnoticed by all the relevant parties, Quin pulled his dreads to the side and leaned over, blowing a slow teasing breath over the now well-traveled path, watching the little bumps rise in response to the cool air. He then tossed back the second shot, and in twist he once saw in a seedy club on Zeltros, allowed some of the liquor to drizzle out from between his lips, enough to pool in Anakin's navel and spill over. Closing his lips around the recess, he sucked and swirled his tongue in the hole, and with broad swipes, worked his way up Anakin's belly, using the flat of his tongue to lap up as much of the remaining liquor as possible.

Anakin groaned and threw back his head, hips bucking upward as Quin's tongue tickled down his ribcage, flicking over any drops that had tried to escape. "Cock-tease? You're the kriffing cock-tease," Anakin gasped in pleasure, opening his eyes to see whose turn it was. "You have _got_ to meet me later in the 'fresh—"

The first thing that came into focus was Quinlan Vos hovering over him with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. Then, almost in slow motion, out of the corner of his eye, Anakin saw someone throw a hell of a punch, knocking all the grin off of Vos' face and sending the Kiffar reeling to the floor.

Anakin's eyes widened, and he started to convulse with laughter at the comically shocked look on Master Vos' face just before he fell. _What the fuck was that? Someone just laid out Master Vos? Stang!_ Anakin threw an arm over his eyes and just lay there, continuing to shake with laughter.

_Fuck, yeah, Knights Out, this is definitely more like it!_

"Sith _damn_ you, Quinlan Vos, I fucking warned you _never_ to touch him!"

 


	6. Can't Feel My Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First new chapter in 3 years, whooooo! My eternal thanks and appreciation to Nisa for her late nights spent discussing this fic and understanding these asshats maybe better than I do, and for loving Quinlan as much as I do. <3
> 
> Also, special credit goes out to Snootiegirl for her creative input back in 2013, of which many threads have woven their way into this chapter--thanks so very much!

_**I know he'll be the death of me, at least we'll both be numb** _  
_**All this misery was necessary when we're deep in love[...]** _  
_**I can't feel my face when I'm with you,** _  
_**But I love it...** _

**_~Can't Feel My Face, The Weeknd_ **

 

“Sith _damn_ you, Quinlan Vos, I fucking warned you _never_ to touch him!”

Chest heaving with righteous fury, Obi-Wan stumbled off-balance and swiped clumsily at the tangle of hair that had fallen across his reddened face. _“_ _Never_...touch...him...” he panted, glaring down at the target of his fist, who now lay sprawled atop the pile of smaller Padawans who had inadvertently become collateral damage.

Pulling his leadened arm from across his eyes, Anakin's unrestrained, raucous laughter tapered off into gasps, and his head lolled to the side as he cautiously cracked open an eye to see what the hell had just happened.

“ _Staaaang._ _”_ From his altered angle, he spotted Master Vos on the floor nearby, and standing threateningly over the Kiffar Master, wincing while shaking out his fist, was a _wet_ green shirt and stupid sexy-as-fuck pants and a mess of hair that had gone down on him in all sorts of ways all night long—in his head, anyway—and confused as all the Sith hells combined, Anakin sat up abruptly.

“ _Obi-Wan?”_

His body rocked unsteadily from the sudden change in altitude and conspired with the strobing lights to send an unpleasant rush of dizziness over him. Gripping the rail of the bar tightly, he screwed his eyes shut, willing away the sensation— _and_ the insane thought that his Master—the famed _Negotiator—_ had lowered himself to public brawling, when he could just _talk_ someone to death. _Except for me—_ Anakin could, and in fact _had_ , nearly gotten off more than once just _listening_ to the man read some boring-ass report out loud, never mind the mind-numbing meetings with the Council, which often sent him scurrying back to their quarters on the pretense of _'needing to meditate.'_

“ _Totally_ too much to drink,” Anakin mumbled into his chest, nodding to reassure himself.

From his spot on the floor, Quinlan offered Obi-Wan his best wounded look. “Seriously, man? Did you just _hit_ me?” Pretending to be surprised and dazed, he rubbed at his chin, privately marveling at the strength Obi-Wan had gathered _without_ using the Force.

_A lotta possessiveness in that fist, Punchy-Wan._ _T_ _hey should build me a fucking statue right in the center of the Garden_ _s for trying to help your sorry ass get a piece tonight. Nothing fancy, just my benevolent selfless self surrounded by doting Twi_ _'_ _lek dancers and Hapan serving boys...I'm definitely gonna have_ _a talk with Windu_ _later._

“ _What's_ the big deal, anyway, Kenobi? It's not like the kid wasn't offering it up, you know?” Quin jabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward the bar. “I mean, look around. Everyone's had a turn. Hells, even _Tachi's_ had her mouth on him. And by _on_ him, well...I mean...you of all people would know...” he couldn't resist adding, shrugging nonchalantly once more. _C'mon, Obi-Wan,_ _step in any time here_ _..._

Anakin's head shot up at the mention of his Master and he blinked repeatedly, looking between the two Masters with surprise. _“_ _Master?”_ Laughter bubbled up in him again at the absurdity of the whole scene in front of him, with a giant like Vos knocked down on his ass by _Obi-Wan_. He jabbed an accusing finger at each of them. “Wait. _Wait._ Obi-W-wan Kenobi just started a...a _bar fight_?” Anakin snickered loudly, grabbing his sides as he folded over to his knees. “That's... _awwwesome_!”

Rolling his eyes at Skywalker, Quin clambered to his feet, lending his hand to the crushed Padawans beneath him. “Sorry, boys. Seems like Team Kenobi-Skywalker are having some kind of...disagreement? Dispute?” he grinned, looking over his shoulder at Obi-Wan with undisguised innuendo. _“Mating ritual?”_

In the middle of throwing a fierce scowl at Anakin's crass impertinence, Obi-Wan froze, his scowl deepening to an outright glower. _“_ _Excuse me_?” he ground out, fixing his attention on the juvenile excuse for a best friend currently offering high-fives to Padawans and Masters alike for what passed as clever repartee with this sorry lot. “By the blackest stars, you _will_ shut your f-fucking mouth, Quin. Or I will be f-forced to shut it for you.”

_A m_ _ating ritual?_ Obi-Wan pursed his lips sullenly, recalling Quinlan's other ludicrous assertion that this entire evening was an _'escalation of the ongoing Kenobi-Skywalker courtship'._ As he took in the abominable scene he was now _horrifyingly_ the center of, he snorted to himself bitterly. _No, this is more like..._ _a_ _suicide._ _Maybe_ _a_ _homicide, if_ _that degenerate's_ _filthy hands_ _stray toward_ _Anakin_ _again.._ _._

Momentarily sobered by his Sith-inspired homicidal fantasy, and finding any kind of sobriety completely unacceptable and superfluous now, Obi-Wan spied a rogue bottle of _something_ on the bar. His distorted vision could not make out the label—as long as it was alcohol, he felt supremely confident it was _exactly_ what he wanted—and hand outstretched, he launched himself at it.

Overestimating the distance and underestimating the basic concepts of force and inertia, he ended up lumbering right into Aayla, pinning the scantily-dressed Twi'lek firmly against the bar. Only mildly fazed by the untoward contact—later, his utter mortification would render him unable to look the fellow Jedi in the eyes for _weeks—_ Obi-Wan reached out and steadied himself against her shoulders—Force, he _hoped_ it was her shoulders; he would forever tell himself it was her shoulders—stumbling back from the young woman with an apologetic, if not lopsided grin.

“Ah, Knight Secura, my _sincerest_ apologies,” he airily excused himself, guzzling from the bottle while Aayla looked on wide-eyed at the drunken mess of a Master in front of her. “For Quinlan Vos, that is.” Leaning in close, he whispered loudly and winked. “Between you and me, darling, I'd go with Kit. Far less...mileage on that one, wouldn't you agree?”Narrowing his eyes, Obi-Wan noted the familiar scrap of blue fabric clinging to the rail just beneath her hand, and sucked in a sharp breath.

“Well. What do we have here?” he drawled, yanking Anakin's shirt off the rail, holding it by two fingers with disdain. “Please do allow me to take care of this...rubbish,” he offered solicitously, flinging it at his Padawan's head, “for it _hardly_ goes with your exquisite ensemble this evening.” Obi-Wan took another long, messy gulp, finishing with a swipe of his tongue to the corner of his mouth. _“Whatsoever.”_

Still bent over laughing and oblivious to the escalating exchange, Anakin grunted in surprise and jerked himself upright, fumbling at the fabric smothering his face. “Huh?” Frowning, he bat aside the obstruction, leaving his shirt still draped across his forehead. “Oh. Hey! My shirt!” _Wondered where that went._

Totally appreciating the unintentional comedy unfolding around him, Quinlan threw up his hands in mock surrender, choking back his amusement at the wavering slur in his friend's normally proper accent. Had it not been for Obi-Wan's blatant state of agitation, his attempt at intimidation would have been priceless. “Alright, alright, Sithy-Wan. Kriff, a guy's just trying to help—”

“ _Help?_ ” Obi-Wan choked with disbelief, awkwardly stepping backward into the Barabel and Wookiee he'd most unfortunately overheard in the throes of passion earlier on the balcony. He flailed against the pair, frowning and pawing at the fur and scales now stuck to the dampness of his shirt. “This is clearly all your _fault!_ ”

Recalling Aayla's earlier accusation of the same, Quin smirked proudly, stepping forward to offer his friend a steadying hand. “So I've been told, my friend. Now, how about you go take your turn with your boy and—” He jerked back, raising placating palms as Obi-Wan slapped away the Kiffar's hand with a snarl. “Or...not, you know, whatever you want...” he conceded quickly, biting back a snort of laughter at the other man's unusually petty behavior.

_Force, I'm gonna mine this stuff for years, Kenobi. Pure aurodium._

“Is that so?” Obi-Wan retorted acidly, glaring from Quin towards both Siri and Anakin. He tipped back the bottle for another careless swig. “Since w-when,” he hiccuped, “do you give a damn what _I_ want tonight?”

“Well, for starters, back at your place, remember how I—” Quin began earnestly, using a hand gesture near his groin to helpfully illustrate his defense, “you know, just the way you like it on your—”

Jaw dropping, Anakin's eyes widened and drifted to the Kiffar's big hands, absolutely sure he did _not_ just hear that. “Wait. What? You did _what?_ On his _what_?” He frowned petulantly, dragging his shirt off his head and twisting it between his hands, mirroring the sick twisting in his gut. “Better the hell not have been on my mattress,” he muttered darkly, cursing Aayla for ever putting the kriffing gross thought in his head in the first place.

“ _Shut up, both of you!”_ Obi-Wan roared, infuriated by Quin's obnoxiously disgraceful and public revelation of their ' _arrangement,_ _'_ nevermind Anakin's complete lack of any kind of respect or restraint when it came to running that blasted smart mouth of his. Obi-Wan whirled on Anakin, eyes blazing.

“That is more than enough insu-subordination from you for one night, _Padawan_ Skywalker,” Obi-Wan snarled, overcome by an irrational mix of fury and envy at how comfortable and sated Anakin looked, half-naked and tainted by the residue of so many others. Anakin's contemptible association with Siri had been painful enough to witness, but this... His mind hatefully and creatively superimposed images of just how many Anakin had been with that evening, how many had touched him. Tasted him.

_P_ _leasured_ him.

Obi-Wan felt that wild, white-hot jealousy and resentment surge through him once more, and he invoked the one solitary privilege he still had left, one that no one else in the entire galaxy could _ever_ claim. “You are _my_ Padawan, Anakin Skywalker, and as l-long as you are _my_ Padawan, I will not have y-you... _whoring_ yourself to the entire Jedi Order!” he hissed spitefully, waving the bottle with an accusing, unsteady hand at the array of leering bystanders crowding the bar.

Momentarily speechless, all Anakin could do was gape at this angry, drunk, and insufferably self-righteous Obi-Wan, who was regrettably _nothing_ like his Fantasy-Wan. Following some snarky comments that were probably insults but Anakin didn't care to take the time to understand, _Fantasy-Wan_ would have thrown Anakin back down on the bar at this point and taught his Padawan a very, _very_ _memorable_ lesson—with his _tongue_ , dammit.

Nope, this was definitely the real Obi-Wan, the one who drove Anakin crazy, the one who drove him to come here in the first place to _forget_ , the one who still had the fucking nerve to look so damn hot in those kriffing low-slung pants that he shouldn't even own, and the one who, according to Vos, wasn't nearly as repressed and _civilized_ as Anakin had been led to believe all these years, which only served to ignite the very short fuse he had left.

Anakin slammed his hands on the rail of the bar. “ _I'm_ whoring myself, Master? _I'm_ not the one letting Quinlan Vos do...do...whatever he did to you!” he accused, jealousy now, even more than the anger and hurt, fueling his scathing tirade. “And why d'you even care? Huh? Jealous that I got Siri _and_ your date tonight? Or maybe... _maybe..._ ” Anakin clapped his hands together with a firm nod. “I got it! You were 'fraid you'd miss your turn?”

Smirking insolently, Anakin threw out his arms wide, gesturing at the party in full swing around them. “Sorry, M-master. Should'a reserved a spot for you, I guess,” he laughed drunkenly, swinging and kicking the heels of his boots against the side of bar.

_As if Obi-Wan would ever do that. As if he'd ever_ want _to do that with you, dumbass._ Anakin ruthlessly crushed the thought, grasping at his misery and anger for much needed support; it was far easier than facing the truth—and inevitable consequences—abandonment, censure, solitary confinement, sobriety, polishing Windu's head, _ugh_ —that would be all too clear in the morning.

Crumpling up his shirt, Anakin brushed leisurely at the moist sheen of alcohol and the remnants of spice splattered across his torso, twisting his lips from a scowl into a half-hearted attempt at a leer. “Too late, I guess. _Sorrrrrry,_ ” he drawled again, hiccuping loudly and grinning manically at Obi-Wan to mask the swirl of rejection and shame that had combined with the alcohol to create an unsettling nausea in the pit of his stomach.

“ _'Sorry'_ ,” Obi-Wan mimicked sarcastically, tilting his head to the side as he regarded his apprentice, his partner, the irritatingly attractive young man he'd coveted in a most-un-Jedi-like way for years... and he was _done_. The way Anakin was taunting him now, flaunting his Sith-begotten words from sin-colored lips while running those long fingers over flushed, marked skin that had been sullied and sampled by just about _everyone_ that evening...

Obi-Wan stared at a spot on the floor as he pursed his lips, nodding thoughtfully. “You're... _sorry_.” Flicking his eyes back up to Anakin, he thrust the lip of the bottle towards the younger man in salute, tipped back a hefty swallow, then swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand before violently smashing the bottle to the floor between them.

“N-not _nearly_ as sorry as I am.” Giving one last withering look to Anakin, Obi-Wan spun on his heel and with a careless wave of his hand, parted the sea of drunken gawkers with the Force, instantly regretting the action and the spectacle he now made of himself by stumbling through the empty space. He staggered and swayed on his feet as spots and stars danced before his eyes, his shields precariously close to collapsing completely from the deluge of emotion and inebriation flowing through him from saturated atmosphere of the Outlander.

With a frustrated growl, he screwed his eyes shut momentarily and struggled to regain some kind of equilibrium as he lurched gracelessly to the doors, slamming them open with a stinging slap of his palms. _“Kriff!”_ he roared at the Coruscanti night, breaking the eerie quiet that had followed him out onto the sidewalk.

For once that evening, the Force was blessedly on his side and an air taxi was waiting. “Jedi Temple. _Now_ ,” Obi-Wan barked as he tumbled in, slouching into the back seat. With an exasperated growl, he covered his face with a tired hand to block out the dizzying blur of lights as the taxi sped away through the Uscru District.

“ _Kriff,”_ he whispered to himself, sighing despondently as he lay his head back against the seat for the lonely ride home.

* * *

With a flicker of guilt in his gut, Quin watched Obi-Wan storm out _without_ his Chosen Dumbass. _Come, on, Obi-Wan! You're killing me here. Ol' Quinny serves up your boy to you on a platter, and you_ leave _? How in the black stars am I supposed to close the deal with Aayla when you're not even here? Stang—Stang—Sta— Oh. Oh yeah._ He nodded, smiling to himself while tenderly pressing at his swelling jaw. _If it works for one..._

“Hot little show you put on tonight, Skywalker,” Quin proclaimed as he sidled up to Anakin, who was staring in shock and disbelief at the broken glass and fragrant liquor pooling below his feet. Reaching out to run the Padawan's braid between his fingers, Quin tugged gently to get the boy's attention. “Been watching you, and you know, I just couldn't resist. After that performance with Olin, had to get me a little taste.”

“It seemed only fair, you know?” At Anakin's suspicious glare at the hand fingering his braid, Quin leaned in close and waggled his eyebrows, tone dripping with dirty insinuation. “Since I've known for _years_ how your Master tastes,” he bragged, running his tongue lasciviously over his lips. “Jealous, kid? You should be,” he whispered hotly in Anakin's ear with a flick of his tongue. “You wouldn't _believe_ how delicious he is.”

Startled, Anakin jerked back at the sensation and, losing the battle between balance and gravity, half-rolled, half-fell off of the bar. A pair of strong hands hauled him to a standing, if not terribly steady position while he swayed and pitched against a hulking frame of dark leather, strong masculine scent and the scratch of dreadlocks against his cheek. He rolled big, unfocused eyes up to meet the amused smirk of Master Vos, and struggled to pull back from the close embrace.

Comprehension slowly dawned, and Anakin felt a fresh wave of disgust and revulsion as the older man's words permeated his few still-functioning brain cells. Anakin was _done_ having anyone else's hands on him, especially this dirtbag son of a gundark who'd had _his_ hands all the fuck over Obi-Wan. “Don' touch me,” Anakin slurred, stabbing a finger into the other man's chest. “And don' you _ever_ touch my Master 'gain. He's _mine_. M'kay? N-not yours _,_ ” he declared petulantly, his lips drooping into a severe pout. _“Mine.”_

Seizing Anakin's hand roughly, Quin pushed it aside with a smirk. “Yours, huh? You sure about that?” he threatened, the deep bass of his growl barely stifling his snicker at Skywalker's possessive drunken posturing. He nodded thoughtfully toward the exit, and then broke into a smug grin. “Not if I get there first...” he challenged with a wink, punctuating the insinuation with a hard thrust and grind of his hips against Anakin's.

“Not if I kick your _ass_ first!” Anakin shoved at the older Jedi and swung out wildly, missing Quin by a parsec. Whirling off-balance, he smashed his ribs against the bar, knocking the wind out of him. Gasping, Anakin turned and glared vibroblades at the other man, hooking his elbows on the ledge for support. “'S...mine. Stay...'way...Vos. _My._..Masser...”

_No one touches him. No one. Not Vos, not the entire fucking galaxy._ _He's_ mine.

“You hear that, Obi-Wan? You're _my_ Master! And I'm the Chosen One...so...so... _so_...I choose... _you!”_ Anakin's laugh at his own joke petered off as the faces in the crowd stared back at him with mixed looks ranging from shock to bored apathy. _Fucking stupid prophecy, never gets me anything but Windu up in my grill._ “You got that, Vos? All of you? Obi-Fucking-Wan Kenobi is _mine!”_ he declared to his audience, waiting for someone, _anyone,_ but _especially_ his Master, to try and challenge his claim.

“ _Obi-Wan!_ Answer me! You got that? _Obi-Wan!_ ” Why the fuck wasn't Obi-Wan listening to him? Oh, _that's right_. Obi-Wan _never_ listened to him. _Yeah? Yeah? Well, I'm gonna_ make _Obi-Wan listen to me, I don't care what he says, he's—_

Gone.

His sluggish, sloshed brain finally caught up and Anakin instinctively called on the Force—instantly wincing and forcing a hand to his temple to tamp down the vertigo—in order to will himself into some kind of functional sobriety as he looked frantically between a smirking Vos and the exit of the club.

Obi-Wan was _gone_.

“ _Aww, Sith!”_ Anakin swore, grabbing his shirt and struggling to stuff uncooperative arms and head into whatever three holes of his shirt they landed in while running haphazardly through the same Force-cleared path that Obi-Wan had taken. “Master, wait! _Wait!_ ”

Throwing himself against the doors, he tripped on his own feet and tumbled out on all fours on to the sidewalk, just in time to see Obi-Wan’s taxi take off. “Obi-Wan! _Obi-Wan, wait!_ ” he howled at the retreating speeder. _“Damn it,”_ he growled, smashing a fist angrily into the permacrete, cracking it into splinters.

“And damn _you_ , Obi-Wan Kenobi. _Fuck._ ”

* * *

“Now _this_ is what I call a party! Best Knights Out yet, right?” Rubbing his hands together, Quin plastered a big grin on his face after Skywalker made a break for the door, howling Obi-Wan's name loud enough to be heard on all four of Coruscant's moons. _You two nerfherders can thank me later. Pictures, stories...maybe a little holovid or two..._

Their entertainment gone, the gawkers around Quin began to stir impatiently. “Sorry, folks, show's over,” he called out, immediately drowned out by a chorus of loud boos. Quin held up his hands, trying to calm the growing unrest. “I know, I know...it's kinda hard to top the Chosen One. But how many of you out there think Master Kenobi's up to the job?” Over the deafening roar of raucous cheers, he announced, “Round of drinks on me!” and quickly darted out of the way towards Aayla, not wanting to be caught between young Jedi and their free booze.

“Nicely done, Vos.” Siri strolled over to them, having purposely removed herself from the line of fire in order to watch her night's work unfold. She offered Quin a single round of mock applause. “I knew there had to be limits to your fidelity to Obi-Wan, and of course, I can hardly blame you. Anakin was a delicious little appetizer this evening, wasn't he?”

“Whatever you say, Tachi,” Quin smiled smugly, content to let the hellcat assume whatever made her happy. He wedged himself between Siri and Aayla, reaching out to wrap his arms around both women. “Now, you two fine ladies ready to move on to the main course?”

Aayla rolled her eyes, easily ducking out from under his arm. “ _So_ not part of our agreement,” she laughed dismissively, patting him on the back.

Siri raised her eyebrow, stepping back from the Kiffar as well. “Reduced to having to barter for sex now? Oh, how the mighty have fallen, Master Vos, it's really quite pitiful.” Folding her arms across her chest, she glanced towards the exit with a satisfied nod. “Thank you, though, for such a thoroughly _satisfying_ time tonight. Obi-Wan Kenobi was humiliated, at the hands of both his precious Padawan and you, his so-called best friend, and I had the delightful blessing of the Force to see it.”

She licked her lips hungrily, surveying the bevy of young darlings hovering nearby. “I think I've earned a treat or two, for all my hard work. Perhaps I'll see you two around?” She waved off the former Master/Padawan pair with a flick of her wrist, taking the proffered hoof of a young Gran bleating for her attention.

“Yeah, in a decon chamber. Gross,” Aayla scoffed, turning up her nose. “Force, Quinny, try a little impulse control sometime, would you?” she lectured while coming up behind him, watching Siri disappear into her diseased sea of horny losers, pleased and relieved that the nasty _schutta_ seemed to be done screwing around with SexyKin.

“I don't know, sounded like fun to me...” Quin leered back over his shoulder with a roguish wink.

“Yeah, it would to you,” Aayla snorted, suddenly hopping up on her ex-Master's back, angling to get a good view of the exit. “I don't know, Quinny. Are you sure about this?” Unable to see any sign of those two drunken pathetic asshats, she pouted and slid down to the floor with a shake of her lekku.

Quin grunted from the impact and turned, giving Aayla a puzzled look. “About what? You, me, and a little..?.” he intimated, making a bumping motion with his fist.

Aayla huffed and yanked a handful of his dreadlocks. “Stop thinking with your cock, and use your _other_ head for once. Sexy and his Master—they're awfully damn drunk, not to mention really pissed off...” She chewed her lip thoughtfully. “What if they do something stupid?”

“Uh huh. And the problem is?” Quin grinned wickedly. “Sweetheart, the only thing those two are gonna go do is fuck each other's brains out until sunrise.” Catching the tell-tale twitch of her lekku, he narrowed his eyes with alarm. “Look here, you're not reneging on our deal, are you? Hey, I met the terms! Skywalker's out of here! So's his Master! They're on their way back to the Temple!”

Aayla pouted again, clucking her tongue. “ _No,_ the deal was to get them _together._ As in _fucking_ , Quinny, not killing each other, which is what it looks like they're about to do. They didn't even _leave_ together. You can't expect me to give you _this_ ,” she ran her hands provocatively down over her hourglass figure, “on such flimsy circumstantial evidence.” She raised her eyebrow expectantly. “Can you?”

Quin groaned loudly in frustration. “You've _got_ to be kriffing kidding me, Aayla.” Wincing, he rubbed at his jaw gingerly. “I faced down both the Wrath of Kenobi and his Chosen Pain-in-the Ass. Doesn't that get Quinny some sympathy?”

The Twi'lek reached up and took his face into her hands. “Poor, poor Quinny,” she cooed, affectionately petting at his stubbled cheeks. “Sympathy? Yes,” she nodded, leaning in towards his bruised lower lip. “But I?” she whispered as she brought her mouth very close, letting her lips teasingly ghost over his, “am really not into pity fucks.”

“I am not a pity fuck!” Quin spluttered, affronted at the insinuation. “Alright, sweetheart. You want proof? Quinny's gonna get you that proof.” With a mischievous grin, he suddenly scooped Aayla up and tossed her over his shoulder. With the petite young woman screeching and giggling as she pounded on his back, he waved his free arm at the crowd.

“Clear a path! Important Jedi business!” he ordered with a shout, heading directly for the exit.

* * *

With the Temple coming into view, Obi-Wan sullenly directed his taxi to drop him at the starfighter hangar. Unlike the main entrance, which he knew from experience would be littered with inebriated Jedi in varying degrees of nudity and consciousness—he'd once dragged a piss-drunk Quin, who had removed everything but his boots and belt during the return flight on a crowded public hoverbus, up those same stairs—he assumed the hangar would be blissfully vacant.

After that scene at the Outlander, a dark, desolate space devoid of all life would afford him all the privacy he required—no, _deserved—_ in order to sulk, pout, and rage at the galaxy as much as he damn well wanted—which by now _,_ thanks to Quinlan Vos, Knights Out, and a certain half-naked Padawan with a mouth that _had_ to have been made for something other than verbally taunting his Master—was a _considerable_ amount.

Swearing at the fitted waist of his damn trousers, Obi-Wan fished clumsy fingers around in a pocket, scattered a couple of credits on the platform, swore again profusely in some vulgar Huttese he was certain was Anakin's influence, and apologetically paid off the driver. The breeze on the platform brought a sobering chill to his damp shirt and he shivered, blinking away some of the haze clouding his senses as hewatched the taxi pull away.

_Blast, I am_ drunk.

Running a hand over his chin, Obi-Wan frowned scornfully at his deplorable lack of self-discipline. _How very uncivilized, Master Kenobi._ He couldn't recall the last time he'd been this intoxicated, though without a doubt Quinlan had to have been involved. His frown dipped into a deep scowl. _Quinlan_ _was always involved_ _._

Despite his fervent wish to pass out on the ride back to the Temple and perhaps stay that way for _days_ , the Force had other ideas and instead drowned him a continuous deluge of salacious images of Quin, Ferus, and Siri each pleasuring Anakin in ways Obi-Wan had rarely allowed himself to entertain even in his most private, perverted imaginings. He'd cursed the Force from here to the Outer Rim for giving him Anakin Skywalker, but never, _ever_ , allowing him to _have_ Anakin Skywalker.

Perhaps Quinlan was right. He should just corner Anakin like some kind of depraved predator, burden him with the knowledge that his Master has flagrantly ignored the Code—never mind the laws of common decency—by indulging in all manner of illicit _feelings_ for his own Padawan, Anakin could then look horrified and repulsed, move in with Padmé and her harem, and Obi-Wan could relocate to the deepest recesses of Wild Space for the rest of eternity to meditate on the virtues of chastity.

Obi-Wan let out a hollow laugh, dismissing the absurd idea in its entirety. _I'm now considering advice from the same lout who_ licked _Anakin? Licked him—with his_ tongue— _like some kind of decadent dessert?_ The thought threatened to run in a wholly inappropriate direction, one that Obi-Wan really wasn't sure he could—or even really wanted to—thwart, and he shook himself out of his stupor just enough to conjure up some kind of plan to locate his bed. At least he could be certain it was in the building.

Somewhere.

As the dark of the hangar enveloped him, Obi-Wan slowed to a shuffle, comforted by the blanket of anonymity the darkness ensured, but nevertheless uncertain if his command of the Force right now was anything close to reliable enough to navigate him safely to the lift. The last thing he needed was to be found sullied and unconscious here in the morning due to an unfortunate encounter between his head and one of these damn ships.

' _Look, younglings, at poor Master Kenobi_ _, a p_ _athetic old drunk lost and all alone because he couldn't even find a willing companion at Knights Out._ _'_ Yes, that would just be _brilliant_. _Anakin would never let me hear the end of it, either._

_Anakin..._

Incensed and distracted, Obi-Wan stumbled as he abruptly changed direction, discarding his not-there-at-all plan to proceed directly to his bed. With a deep growl, he glared into the darkness, knowing all too well that somewhere out there was the corner where he knew Anakin's beloved Delta-Six was docked.

Anakin had cajoled Master Tiin into giving him the corner berth so that he'd have plenty of space to make all of his adjustments and modifications; as though the first-of-its-kind starfighter, customized _by_ and _for_ him prior to rolling off the assembly line at Kuat Drive Yards, had _needed_ any further modifications. Obi-Wan had been stuck planetside for a standard _week,_ practically ignored while Anakin fussed and worried over the damn thing like an expectant father.

Stalking over to Anakin's tin tart, Obi-Wan recalled the heated argument they'd had earlier that afternoon over his excessively reckless piloting—courtesy of the _'special modifications'_ enabled by the excess of tools and suppliesstrewn all over the berth's outsized L-shaped workbench—and spitefully kicked out at one of the landing struts, smirking proudly at the small dent left behind.

He'd not been angry with Anakin for _doing_ it; on a scale of all the irresponsible, ego-tripping, ridiculously arrogant behavior Obi-Wan had been witness to—body shots with the entire Jedi Order immediately and mockingly came to mind _—_ this hardly rated a raised eyebrow. No, he probably _should_ have been angry, but in truth he'd been furious with _himself_ for being so infernally turned on by the exhilaration of skimming on the edge of chaos and disaster, _and_ nearly high from Anakin's corresponding euphoria saturating the Force, that by the time they'd landed, he'd had a raging erection—his _third_ blasted one of the day.

Though by no means a record—that was mercifully holding at _five_ , and had a lot to do with a covert ops mission to Hesperidium involving glitter oil, a studded collar, and an emergency thigh massage when Obi-Wan got a debilitating cramp after crouching hidden for two hours in a recycling bin—it had further inflamed his continually pent-up sexual frustration at being so close, but never close enough, to his object of unobtainable desire. Which _then_ had led to the vulgar necessity of yet another call to Quinlan.

_And just look at where_ that _has gotten you tonight._ _Good job._

Slapping both hands down on a wing, Obi-Wan hung his head and groaned. Just what was it that he wanted from Anakin, really? Certainly not the rush and convenience of a quick fuck like he'd had with Quinlan, for as fond as he was of the man—tonight most definitely notwithstanding—the satisfaction was fleeting, the intimacy nonexistent, the echo in the Force hollow and dull. _I want...I want..._ Obi-Wan moaned helplessly, dragging both hands through his hair. His fingers snagged on the tie still holding on to a few strands and he yanked it out angrily, blowing an irritated breath through the bangs that had fallen forward into his face like an auburn curtain.

_I want something_ more _than that._

Despite his dalliance with Siri and the requisite Padawan crush every apprentice seemed to have on their Master—as in just about everything, Anakin was clearly the exception to the rule—Obi-Wan had no experience being _in love_. Of _course_ he didn't. He was Jedi Master General Obi-Wan Kenobi, he wasn't even supposed to _be_ in love, if his Jedi brethren were anything to go by. Nobody else he knew suffered from this affliction—they were all perfectly content with substituting one detached encounter with another, thrilled by chasing the next opportunity to satisfy their carnal biology. _This_ was why his arrangement with Quinlan had been perfect—a handjob in a closet here, a fuck in some transport container there, no demands, no expectations, no jealousy, no _relationship._

Only, it _wasn't_ perfect, Obi-Wan knew. It wasn't perfect because it wasn't who he was, or what he wanted, at least not anymore. Which was exactly _the problem_. He might actually _want_ all those stupid ridiculous things he'd read about in ancient epic poems—and seen on daytime holos, though _that_ was Luminara's fault, she always had _As the Spacestation Revolves_ blaring in the Healer's Ward, and _no,_ he wasn't invested _at all_ in the star-crossed lovers Nisatella and Patros—things like trust...and intimacy! _F_ _uck_ , he...he wanted declarations of love and insipid romantic gestures! _Oh_ _kriffing_ _fucking hells,_ he even wanted to see stars and rainbows and Sith-damned _supernovas!_

_Supernovas?_ Obi-Wan sputtered in disgust, grinding the heels of his hands against his eyes. _Glitterstim._ _Mace had to have laced those shots with_ _glitterstim_ _and I just...I just need to get to bed. Yes, bed, sleep, a frigate's worth of coffee in the morning, and all this nonsense will evaporate. I'm a Jedi Master and a humble servant of an extremely sadistic Force, and_ _I most certainly do not want—_ His head shot up abruptly, shoulders sagging as he scrunched his eyes shut with a resigned groan.

_Kriff._

_I think I do._

And worse, he didn't just want it, he wanted it _with Anakin_.

_And Anakin made it very clear tonight that he wants nothing of the sort. At least not from me._

Obi-Wan didn't ask for it, he didn't want it— _except you do, so much it_ aches _—_ and he most _certainly_ didn't want to be in love with with his own Padawan. And even _that_ bit of security Obi-Wan had clung to, Anakin's status as his Padawan, was nearly irrelevant now. Standing on the threshold of his Trials, and an accomplished warrior and pilot in his own right, Anakin was a man by any measure, many of which Obi-Wan had tried unsuccessfully to suppress from his creatively deviant mind in the wee hours of the night.

And, as the Force and his own holo-perfect memory seemed hell-bent on replaying for him in full glorious color, Anakin had more than once shown his Master tonight that he was indeed a man now, and as the Chosen One, had so very many from which he could choose—none of whom were named _Obi-Wan Kenobi_. Any attempts at scouring the sight from his mind of Anakin writhing under dozens of tongues while half-naked on a public bar was proving to be irritatingly elusive. Snorting bitterly at that, he clumsily shifted himself around, lolling his head back against the Six with a loud _thunk._

_Even t_ _his blasted hunk of metal has seen more action with Anakin than I ever will_.

Irritation flaring again, he pushed himself off the Six and staggered over to the tool bench, taking in the mess of tools, lubricants, and unmitigated _junk_ littering the space. Scowling, he tossed a wrench and a rusted stabilizer coil over his shoulder and hoisted himself up on the bench. With a heavy sigh, he spied a hydrospanner and lay back on the bench, turning the tool over and over in his hand, noting with scathing reproach that this was the closest he'd ever get to fiddling with Anakin's...tool.

Chucking the 'spanner out into the darkness, Obi-Wan threw an arm across his face and lapsed into a dark, weary laugh.

_Who's the tool? The tool, or the tool who falls in love him?_

* * *

Anakin didn’t even wait for his taxi to land at the Temple, instead opting for a reckless mid-flight leap onto the deck of the hangar, rolling at the last second as his body over-corrected for his drunken weight. Splayed on the deck on his ass, he frowned and shook his head, picking at the tear in the knee of his leather pants. _Stang. Lots of good memories in these pants._ He snorted a laugh. _Out of them, too._

Scrambling unsteadily to his feet, Anakin dusted off his hands, scanning the dusky hangar for his impossible, infuriating, and now unbelievably _drunk_ Master. Not that Anakin really had any room to talk—he knew he was a mess but thanked the Force for giving him enough midichlorians to mitigate the effect when necessary. As far as he was concerned, finding Obi-Wan right the fuck _now_ was _beyond_ necessary, and didn't care if it was an abuse of the Force. Like his cock, _why_ would he be given something if he wasn't meant to _use it_? That Anakin might be more than a little turned on—okay, he'd pretty much been _achingly_ hard since he'd left the Outlander, damn it to all Sith hells—and determined to make Obi-Wan understand that he was _Anakin's,_ could have something to do with his desperation.

He'd thrown all his remaining credits at the driver and _might_ have even threatened to relocate his lightsaber in a biologically unfeasible place if the idiot Dug didn't push it past maximum, so he'd definitely seen Obi-Wan land here, which was surprising given how much the man loathed flying and bitched _constantly_ about Anakin's piloting. His braid flailed left and right as he anxiously tried to pinpoint the direction his Master had taken through the darkness, shaking his head to clear his vision when a wave of dizziness washed over him. Trying unsuccessfully to steady himself, Anakin tripped over his own boots and crashed loudly into a refuse bin with a yelp.

Having started to nod off on the tool bench, Obi-Wan jerked alert, startled by the scraping clatter of metal against permacrete. _“_ _W_ _onderful,”_ he frowned, heaving an annoyed sigh at whomever had encroached upon his sulking solitude. _Would it be terribly un-Jedi-like of me to mind-trick them into pissing themselves, just to get them out of here?_ Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. Given his earlier lack of control with the Force, he'd probably only succeed in pissing himself instead, and have a ready witness to the aging Master Kenobi's unfortunate incontinence.

With an ungraceful lurch, Obi-Wan rolled himself off the bench, in the process managing to snag his boot on an empty coolant tank. _“Bloody hell_ ,” he swore to himself at the resulting clatter, stumbling further into the shadows around the ship for cover.

The commotion caught Anakin's surprise—the place seemed deserted and it wasn't anywhere near the lift—and curiosity got the better of him as headed that way. “Kriff, Obi-Wan, where the fuck are you?” he muttered in frustration, curling his fingers into tight fists. Calling on the Force with a careless flick of his wrist—an action that would have earned him a good hour's worth of lecture from Obi-Wan, which was _especially_ why he did it— Anakin raised the running lights of the hangar to aid in his search. Weaving through an array of Headhunters and Lancets, he came around the tail of an ancient, beat-up _Aurek-_ class strikefighter and stumbled to a stop.

There was his Six, gleaming in the wan lighting and waiting more patiently than Anakin had ever had flying her through the Coruscanti skies. Happily distracted from his search for Obi-Wan and the inevitable fight that would follow—because Anakin was definitely _not_ going to listen to any bantha shit hypocrisy about attachment and the Dark Side and the ethical virtues of abstinence, since his Master _certainly_ wasn't _virtuous_ where Quinlan Vos was concerned—he sighed contentedly, giving his girl an affectionate smile.

_Hey there, beautiful_.

Near the port engine manifold, Obi-Wan shrank back further against the ship as the lights came up, not in any kind of mood to explain exactly what he was doing skulking around Anakin Skywalker's bloody Delta Six. _He_ didn't even know what he was doing here, other than wallowing in self-pity and perhaps, he allowed with more than a little disgust, indulging himself like some kind of addict in the heady lingering remnants of Anakin's blazing Force-signature embedded in the aura surrounding the ship.

Scowling and cursing himself for loitering when he could have been blessedly passed out in the confines of his bed already, Obi-Wan cautiously peered around the exhaust vent for the intruder blocking his path to the lift and unconsciousness. “Oh, _fuck_ _,_ ” he swore exasperatedly and covered his eyes with his hand, wondering just _what_ he had ever done to land so far on the wrong side of the Force.

What _is he doing here? Shouldn't he still be at the Outlander,_ _flat_ _on his back and enjoying his blasted new-found fame?_

Staggering over to his starfighter, Anakin reverently lay an open palm to her smooth plating, feeling the _un_ complicated, _un_ emotional, _un_ demanding metal and circuitry speak to him from under his fingers. He began a worshipful caress down the nose and along the custom paint job on the hull, stopping short of the cockpit ladder to rest his forehead against the cool durasteel, drawing in a deep, steadying breath.

_Machines I can understand. When it comes to you, Master...I don't even have a schematic_.

Even when he was completely sober—which he sure as hell wasn't right now, though he was getting there, and not sure he wanted to be when he found Obi-Wan—Anakin found most of his Master's behavior...confusing. The man ran more hot and cold than a standard rotation on Tatooine, an almost nauseating whiplash that left Anakin even more frustrated, and paradoxically more in love, than before. Obi-Wan Kenobi was many things to many people—Jedi Master, General, Negotiator, Teacher. _And apparently lover to Quinlan Fucking Vos._ But to Anakin, Obi-Wan was _his. His_ Master. _His_ partner.

His _everything._

Anakin sighed bitterly, turning his flushed cheek against the ship. _Get over it. The Six loves you more than he ever will._

Trapped in the shadows of the ship, Obi-Wan's heart pounded in his chest, expecting any moment for some kind of scathing remark accusing him of anything from stalking to sabotage—both of which he could not deny had some merit. Dragging anxious hands through his hair, Obi-Wan wished to be _anywhere_ but here, lurking in the shadows from his own Padawan. For all he knew, Anakin wasn't even alone, or was meeting someone for the obligatory Knights Out after-party hookup. _Siri? Padmé?_ He closed his eyes with dismay.

_Oh,_ _of course._ _I_ _t's probably Quinlan._

Straining his ears, Obi-Wan's stunted sensescouldn't pick up any voices or obvious sounds of indiscretion, just soft... His raised eyebrow crept nearly into his hair with his confusion. _Is that...cooing?_ Wary of just what, or _whom_ , might be emitting such a noise, never mind _why_ , Obi-Wan ignored his intuition—the Force had given him exactly zero reasons to trust it tonight, why start now?—and craned his head around to investigate.

Obi-Wan's jaw dropped incredulously and he folded his arms across his chest with an outraged huff. _It's_ him _. He's_ cooing _...at the ship._

There was Anakin, eyes closed in unguarded bliss with his cheek pressed to the hull, embracing the ship with arms spread wide like he was welcoming a long-lost lover. _He's so kriffing enamored with his_ _bucket of bolts_ _, he has no idea I am even here._ Fuming silently, Obi-Wan tapped out an angry beat with two fingers against his arm, glaring as he watched Anakin continue making love to his metallic mistress.

Against his will, Obi-Wan indulged the fantasy of Anakin responding _to him_ that way, intimately, privately, slowly and tenderly, carefully attending to his Master's every want and need... He hissed between gritted teeth, letting the fury and jealousy run through him unabated. _No. He'd never touch you like that_ _and_ _you know_ _it_ _._ _So, this i_ _s what_ _you've_ _been reduced to? Competing with a machine for his affection? One that Anakin_ _obviously_ _sees as more alive than_ _you are_ _?_

Emboldened by the disgust and anger he had with himself, when he couldn't even compel himself to _act_ on his feelings, and so fucking _tired_ of the futility of it all when he knew— _he knew_ —Anakin would never _want_ to reciprocate such ludicrous _feelings_ for him _,_ Obi-Wan slunkout of the shadow of the Six. Lifting his chin with as much dignity as he could muster—which given the dark turn his thoughts had taken, coupled with the copious alcohol still raging through his system, wasn't much at all—he cleared his throat loudly as he rapped his knuckles against the hull.

" _Do_ excuse the intrusion,” he apologized, unable to control the roll of his eyes or the acid contempt in his voice. “As this seems to be a p-private affair, I'll just leave you two alone." Retreating with an unsteady bow and flourish of his hand, Obi-Wan turned and headed toward the lift.

“ _Stang!”_ Startled, Anakin's eyes flew open and he jerked back from the Six as if hit by an ion blast. “What the—” He spun around, lost his balance, and bashed his knee against the undercarriage of the wing. _“Fuck!”_ he swore again, hobbling and limping around the ship's stern.

“Master? _Master?_ That you?” Anakin furrowed his brow, stomping his boot on the permacrete impatiently. There was _no way_ he was letting Obi-Wan just walk off, not after he'd had to leave a _very_ good party to chase him all the way back here. Oh _hell_ no.

“ _Obi-Wan!_ Get back here!”

Obi-Wan smirked with satisfaction, judging from the vehemence of Anakin's curse that whatever he'd hit was going to bruise. _Good._ “Oh, I don't think so. I certainly would not wish to come between you and your durasteel _darling_ ,” he demurred sarcastically over his shoulder. “Worked your way through the entire Outlander already and moving on to mechanicals, are we? I will be certain to warn Artoo.”

Infuriated all over again, not so much by the insinuation but the mere fact that Obi-Wan had _impugned_ his Six, Anakin gaped open-mouthed at his Master's back. "Well, at least...at least this machine _talks_ to me!" he called out churlishly, giving the Six an affectionate pat. “She doesn't yell at me, ignore me, and she sure as _hell_ hasn't had Quinlan Vos' hands all over her!”

Shocked to a halt, Obi-Wan turned as if in slow motion, his jaw working for a few moments before being able to form any coherence words. “Perhaps, then, I should take _her_ ,” he made mocking quotes with his fingers, “as my Padawan. Seeing that _she_ doesn't yell at _me_ , ignore _me,_ and sure as _hell_ hasn't had Quinlan Vos' _mouth_ all over _her_!” he retorted hotly, stalking back towards Anakin. “Though I doubt very much the bar at the Outlander has adequate space for her to wantonly offer up her belly to the whole of the Jedi Order.”

Stunned and dumbstruck, Anakin could only go on the attack. “Well, with my trials coming up, you won't have to wait long, will you? You want a different Padawan? Maybe someone more like that asshole Olin?” The disturbing image of a bearded Olin resurfaced, reminding Anakin of his _'appointment'_. He glanced at his chrono and grimaced. _Not gonna make it._ “Someone who'll follow all the rules, someone meek and obedient and _borrrrring?_ ”

“You and Ferus seemed to be getting along _just fine_ ,” Obi-Wan muttered, flushing warm at the sensuous memory of the two young men, not expecting the sharp spike of arousal in his groin from the thought of _Anakin_ being anything close to meek and obedient. He caught Anakin checking his chrono and frowned petulantly at the implication. “Expecting someone? I should tell you that Quinlan has never once in his life been prompt, so you may be waiting quite some time for whatever illicit rendezvous you had planned.”

“ _What?”_ Seething, Anakin jerked his head up with a scowl. “No, why would I be waiting for Vos? _I'm_ not his _date_ ,” he fired back, thrusting an accusing finger at his Master. “ _I'm_ not sucking his face in public...or anywhere else!”

Obi-Wan stiffened at the accusation. “No, you're just the one who let him have free reign over your person with his _tongue,_ ” he hissed, gesturing up and down over the length of the younger man's torso. “And you are hardly in _any_ position to talk about _dates_.”

“'Prolly not,” Anakin agreed with a sniff, crossing his arms and slouching against the Six. “But at least _I_ was having a damn good time with mine.” Emboldened, Anakin chuckled and licked his lips in thought. “Well, more than just mine, I guess. Siri, Aayla, Barriss, Olin, Quin—I think even fucking _Windu_ came by,” he bragged, shifting his stance to lean in a little closer. “Should'a taken your turn when you had the chance, Master. Could'a taught you something about having _fun_.”

Out of habit, he wrapped his braid around his knuckles tightly, averting his gaze as he twisted his lips into a pout. “Not that you'd recognize fun if it hit you on your aft shields,” he muttered.

Obi-Wan tracked the motion of Anakin's long fingers on his braid, willfully trying to suppress the thought of those fingers wrapping around him, tugging and pulling until he—. He inhaled sharply, feeling the jolt of lust go straight to his cock, knowing without a doubt that his continued participation in this standoff was jeopardizing that five-in-a-day record.

It was the same routine with them, the baiting, the petty, spiteful exchanges, the friction and aggression charging the air between them to unbearable levels. At this rate, he'd soon be on the comm drunk-dialing Quinlan shamelessly begging for relief, followed by a morning full of self-loathing, the Kiffar's gloating, and all the water on Kamino wouldn't be enough to wash away his mortification. _So...my choices yet again are Master Vos or Master Bates? How did I possibly think tonight would be any different?_ _Kriff._

“Do not f-flatter yourself, _Padawan,_ ” Obi-Wan scoffed with a derisive lift of his chin, giving Anakin's cheek a sloppy, patronizing pat. “There is nothing you can teach me that I would care to know.”

_Lies, so many, many lies, Kenobi. You want anything and everything he could teach you so much it burns like a supernova..._ Obi-Wan bit down on his tongue, _hard._ Honestly. _Again with the fucking supernovas?_ He was never going to set foot in the Healer's Ward again, Nisatella and Patros be _damned._

Anakin's eyes darkened at the obvious slight and jerked his head away from the touch, irritated further by the fact that, like with every argument they had, he was getting hard. _Really_ hard. “No, 'spose not, if you've got Quinlan Vos to twist your—” He lifted his brows as he cast his eyes downward, making a suggestive motion with his wrist just as Quin had back at the Outlander.

Anakin's cock _jumped_ at the gesture, just _imagining_ his own hand on Obi-Wan. He'd not had his hand on a cock in _forever,_ other than his own, which was _a lot_ lately, and...okay, Siri's earlier, but that was more her _mouth_ than her hand, and...okay, Olin's at Knights Out last year, but _fuck,_ he didn't need to be reminded of that, even if it wasn't so bad because he'd learned a lot and he really _really_ wanted to show his Master how much _better_ he was at it than that asshole Olin or _especially_ that _sleemo_ Vos, because _of course_ the Force had given Anakin a special talent with cocks, he was sure.

Frustration and white-hot desire knotted with the mix of intoxicants in his gut, making Obi-Wan literally swoon on his feet. He slapped the offensive gesture aside and stepped back abruptly, anxious to get some much needed space and a very necessary breath. “That is enough!” he huffed with disgust, combing a nervous hand through his hair _again_. _“_ _Blast it.”_ Obi-Wan fervently hoped the dim light and shadows were enough to cloak his erection because he was certain by the increasingly unbearable discomfort he had that his pants were not helping _at all_.

“Ha!” Anakin saw the flush creeping up through Obi-Wan's whiskers and threw back his head, howling as the answer to his Master's peculiar behavior became clear. “I get it now! That's why you punched him, isn't it? Because you were embarrassed?”

“What? No!” Obi-Wan protested feebly, fumbling for words that refused to cooperate. He held up a hand, waving off the notion. “That's...that's not it at all!” _No, I punched my best friend because I'm a jealous, lecherous, and thoroughly spineless failure of a Jedi who warned that glib bastard to keep his filth away from you, that's why._

“Yes, it is!” Anakin, even this drunk, felt the obvious lie—the Negotiator must be really smashed if he couldn't deflect better than _that_. “Master Kenobi was _embarrassed_ _!”_ He threw back his head to laugh again, this time cracking it on the Six's hull. Wincing, he rubbed gingerly at the back of his head, regarding Obi-Wan owlishly through one eye. “Your so-called _date_ embarrassed you in front of everyone, and that's all you care about, isn't it? Your precious reputation?”

A quick flash of his evening's _'_ _achievements_ _'_ —from kissing Barriss to propositioning Aayla to Siri's blowjob to a 'fresher appointment with Olin to body shots with everyone _but_ Obi-Wan—forced a sobering realization to the surface. If Obi-Wan was embarrassed by Vos' actions—really, compared to all the stories Anakin had heard, most of them _from Obi-Wan_ , tonight was pretty standard fare—his Master probably _was_ ashamed enough to disown Anakin as his Padawan. _And it's your fault—you want him to see you as a man, an equal, and all you did was act like the child he already thinks you are._

Sullenly, he lurched up from the Six and shouldered past Obi-Wan, heading for the lift. “Guess I should be glad you put up with me for this long, huh? _Sorry_ to be such a c-constant _embarrassment_ to you, Master Kenobi.”

“Oh, if _only_ that were true!” Obi-Wan sneered, angrily grabbing Anakin by the arm and whirling him around. “That was _deplorable_ behavior tonight—I know I taught you better than that!”

Anakin glared at the hand on his arm and back up at Obi-Wan. “Yeah? Well, do you think along the way you could have taught me how to be a hypocrite like you, Master?” he challenged with an insolent smirk.

Obi-Wan blinked a few times, taken aback with outrage. _“Excuse me?”_

“A _hypocrite,”_ Anakin repeated, slowly emphasizing each syllable in that smart-ass insubordinate tone he knew pissed off Obi-Wan like nothing else. “You know, someone who says one thing, but does the opposite?”

Obi-Wan visibly bristled at the accusation, giving Anakin's arm a terse shake. “I am not... How _dare_ you! Y-you, you don't understand!”

Anakin yanked out of the grip on his arm, throwing his hands in the air in distress. “No? Then explain it to me! Explain it to me how _I'm_ such an embarrassment, when _you're_ the one throwing punches and smashing bottles! Tell me how it is that you can lecture me on morals and virtues and the Jedi _fucking_ Code, when _you're_ the one letting Quinlan Vos fuck you into _my_ mattress!”

Obi-Wan blanched, eyes going wide with disgust. “What? I...I never...we were _never_ on your mattress!” He shook his head in protest, scrubbing a hand across eyes. “ _Force._ It's not like that...it was never _..._ I would _never..._ ”

How could he possibly explain _any_ of his actions to Anakin, when he could hardly justify them to himself? Rampant jealously, excessive intoxication, public brawling, lascivious undertakings with the most voracious libertine in the history of the Order. Anakin was right. _I'm a total hypocrite. At least Anakin is honest about who he is and what he wants. I can't even admit_ _it_ _to myself._

“What do you want from me, Anakin? An apology? _Fine._ I'm sorry I'm a _hypocrite._ I'm sorry I ruined your evening and disgraced us both with my behavior. I'm _sorry_ for...” he waved his hand helplessly in the air, “ _everything_. Alright? There you go.” His hand dropped heavy at his side as he shook his head again, suddenly, overwhelmingly _exhausted_. Running both hands through his hair, he sighed despondently as it fell back in his face. “Bloody Sith, I can't do this anymore.”

“ _Kriffing son of a...,”_ Anakin growled under his breath, uncharacteristically giving he Six's hull a hard whack. “What does _that_ mean? You're just done with me? That's it? After all _that?_ You're just done and you get to...to...just...walk away?”

“ _No,”_ Obi-Wan groaned with annoyed resignation, trying mobilize the effort to _move away_. “It...it means I d-don't want to fight anymore.” Even if his cock was telling him otherwise. His cock _loved_ fighting with Anakin. Obi-Wan knew it was never sound policy to follow the will of his cock, but that was a battle he rarely won in a war he was hopelessly doomed to lose.

“What do you want, then? Huh, Master? At least when you fight with me, I know you give a fuck," Anakin snarled in his face, breath hot and sweet, his braid swinging with enough momentum to graze the tip across the exposed skin on Obi-Wan's chest.

Obi-Wan shivered from the contact, clenching his fists at his side to keep from reaching up and grabbing that braid like he _so very much wanted to._ “Oh, I give a _fuck_ ,” he snarled right back, his anger and frustration stoked by Anakin's constantly running mouth along with his warm, fragrant proximity invading all of his senses. “It would likely astound you just _how many_ fucks I give."

Obi-Wan suddenly—and without much finesse—shoved Anakin up against the Six, slapping his hands against the hull to trap him. “What do _I_ want?” he inquired in a strained whisper, eyes wild with pent-up desire and need and _want_. Growling, he cupped Anakin's face in his hands, dragging his thumb down the shiny wetness on Anakin's bottom lip.

“ _You._ Force _help_ me, I want— _”_

“ _You.”_ Anakin moaned in relieved, needy unison, surging up to complete the thought in a desperate joining of roving lips, slick tongues, and clashing teeth, tugging until Obi-Wan crashed against him.


	7. Get Lucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last! Thanks to all who have shared their excitement and encouragement for Obi-Wan and Anakin to get to this point after 10 long years of waiting! This one's a longgggg one, kids, I hope it's been worth the wait! There will also be an epilogue in a few days, because OF COURSE, there's got to be a morning after.
> 
> Also, there's no word for the level of gratitude I owe Nisa for all of her help, support, pushing-without-pushing, insight, and excitement for this story. We ALL thank you, Nisatella!!! <3

**_“We're up all night 'til the sun_**  
 ** _We're up all night to get some_**  
 ** _We're up all night for good fun_**  
 ** _We're up all night to get lucky...”_** ~Daft Punk, Get Lucky

 

With his mouth still plastered to Anakin's as they crashed together, Obi-Wan moaned obscenely into the full-body contact, thrilled by the press of that long, lean body against his, hard and unyielding in all the right places. One hand crept around to the nape of Anakin's neck, keeping him close, while Obi-Wan relentlessly plundered the mouth that had tormented him for years with rankling insolence, lips far too full and sensual for any man, and a completely pornographic rendering of Obi-Wan's title— _Master_ _definitely_ should not sound like it belonged in one of Quin's low-budget bootlegged _'art'_ holos _,_ for Sith's sake.

_But it does. He looks at you through those pretty lashes_ _and says your name_ _with a pout_ _, and you have to leave the room, turn on the water in the 'fresher, and shove your hand in your pants like some first-year apprentice_ _just hitting puberty_ _._

The kiss—if it could be called that, it was more akin to a mauling— was savage, brutal, _feral,_ as Obi-Wan poured all of his repressed desires into it, determined to take this one moment and claim it— _Anakin—_ as _his._ _Not like you're going to get another, not when he asks for reassignment because his_ _own_ _Master_ _couldn't keep his hands to himself._ _Disgraceful wretch._

Anakin grunted sharply from the impact, a pleased laugh bubbling up against his lips under the onslaught, the friction of coarse whiskers against the sensitive skin of his lips grounding him in the reality of the moment. This...this was far, _far_ better than anything Fantasy-Wan had done for him, this was _real_ , this was forceful, controlling, and _hot._ This... Anakin released a long, ragged sound of need.

_Fuck, this is_ Obi-Wan _._

Spurred on by the realization that this was no drunken fantasy, this was happening _right the fuck now_ , Anakin eagerly reciprocated kiss for kiss, escalating the frantic heat and need crackling between them, as though some kind of barrier had been irreversibly shattered and they were being swept along in the current. He gave no resistance, only surrender, to the heady sensation of desire thrumming at the edges of his mind, unable in this state to sort himself out from Obi-Wan and not caring in the least because Obi-Wan's tongue was basically fucking his mouth right now and _oh my kriffing Force yes yes yes._

He sank his fingers into that gorgeous hair—a fantasy come true right there—and clenched his fist, pulling the strands taut as he took ownership of the kiss, sliding his tongue slick and wet against Obi-Wan's as he explored every delicious surface of his Master's mouth. The hottest, sexiest, _dirtiest_ sound Anakin had _ever_ heard rumbled deep from within Obi-Wan, and Anakin surged up to grind his cock shamelessly against Obi-Wan's, nearly making Anakin come in his pants right then and there.

Obi-Wan felt— _stang_ , he _felt—_ the solid line of Anakin's cock digging insistently against his and saw stars, the touch so overwhelming, almost painful, but Obi-Wan could think of nothing but feeling it again, rocking up against Anakin in return. Appalled and disgusted by his vulgar behavior against his Padawan, for the way his body was betraying him with gasps and moans and other desperate noises he _never_ thought he'd be capable of, he broke off the kiss as a tortured whine tore from his throat.

“W-wait. We—we...” He pressed his forehead against Anakin's as he gulped for air, closing his eyes with a shake of his head. _“_ Shouldn't.” _Must._ He shook his head again, licking his lips. “ _C_ _-c_ _an't.”_ _Want to._

“Wh-what?” Anakin panted against his mouth, blinking with confusion at the sudden lack of _Obi-Wan_ and whimpering his despair as he watched his Master's tongue flick out to wet his lips. _Seriously? Seriously, he's gonna stop now, when things are finally getting good?_

_This_ was the Obi-Wan he knew, the one trying so hard to always have the upper hand, to be right and proper and fucking _in charge_ , and while at some point that might become appealing—he flushed at the thought of willingly submitting to a righteous, demanding _Master_ Kenobi—right now it was _totally_ cock-blocking him. A small, smug smile tugged at the corners of his mouth; luckily, he was _aces_ at circumventing all of Obi-Wan's _rules._ _I'll be Sith-damned if you think I'm going to start obeying you now, Master. Not now, not here, and definitely not about this._

“Um, _y_ _es_ , _”_ Anakin chuckled, low and cocky, nodding as he coaxed Obi-Wan's mouth to his again, licking a teasing stripe across that seemingly-permanent frown, “we _can_.” Confident in his skills of seduction—which were essentially none, but his cock was telling him differently, and so far tonight it hadn't led him astray—okay, well not much, but whatever, _nobody_ was complaining—Anakin lapsed into a drunken giggle, deliberately stroking both hands down his Master's back to rest against his ass. His splayed hands grasped the firm muscle with an appreciative hum, and he nodded with another stupid, leering grin. “We _are.”_

“ _Nnnngghhhh A-Anakin!”_ Obi-Wan sputtered indignantly, while simultaneously thrusting back into his hands with a needy moan. “Y-you’re intoxicated!” he accused with what little conviction he could scramble together, given that Anakin's hands on his _ass,_ good _Force_ , were driving him _crazy._ “In-nebriated,” he added for emphasis, dragging his lips in a moist line along Anakin's neck to mouth the juncture behind Anakin's ear where his braid began. _“_ _Drunnnnnk,”_ he concluded in a punctuated drawl, tracing his tongue up and around the shell of his ear to suck on the lobe. _This is wrong, this is so wrong, for fuck's_ sake _this is wrong!_ _K_ _riffing hells why_ _would anything so clearly wrong feel_ _so good?_

“So are you!” Anakin countered with a smirk, suddenly rolling them along the hull until he had Obi-Wan pressed beneath _him_ against the Six. “I r-really,” he shifted, driving a thigh between his Master's legs as he ground his hips downward with a moan, '' _really_ don't see the problem.”

“ _Kriff,”_ Obi-Wan swore helplessly, as his hips rolled of their own volition against Anakin's, obliterating that five-in-a-day record with an erection that felt more like newly-forged durasteel right out of the mold, red hot, mercilessly rigid, and ready to be tempered.

“I’m your M-master. I shouldn’t—” Anakin cut him off with another searing kiss, sucking profanely loud and hard on his tongue. Obi-Wan moaned into Anakin's mouth, forcing one hand under the younger man's leg, hiking it higher to increase the friction. “I—I don’t want to do anything inappropriate—”

Anakin froze immediately, then lowered his leg with a loud huff. “No, of _course_ you wouldn't,” he sniped, making a show of removing his hands and holding them out to the side in surrender. _I knew it! He still_ _sees me as_ _dumb kid who_ _just has some dick crush on him_ _._ “You didn't seem to have a problem being _inappropriate_ with Vos, though!” he threw back, challenging his Master with a petulant jut of his chin.

Breathing heavily, Obi-Wan's eyes widened at the accusation as Anakin's leg slid from his grasp. “As I have the _supreme_ misfortune of recalling, n-neither did you!” he retorted, scowling as he raked a single finger down Anakin's torso, over the layers of filth lurking beneath the thin fabric. Quinlan Vos was by far not the first to defile Anakin, but his deliberate betrayal of his best friend made him undoubtedly the _worst_. “And it-it wasn't like _that,_ ” he added, unable to meet Anakin's accusing eyes.

_It wasn't_ anything _like that, because it wasn't_ you _._

Anakin rolled his eyes insolently. He was _so fucking tired_ of this shavit, tired of hearing about the great Quinlan Vos and what his hands twisted and mouth tasted, _and then_ having it thrown in his face that he'd done one, _just one_ body shot with the guy—which Anakin hadn't _technically_ even asked for—so it wasn't like he was actually _with_ Vos. _Unlike_ his Master, who apparently had been fucking around _for years_ with the walking disease bag.

“No?” Anakin slapped Obi-Wan's hand aside and cupped his chin in his hand. “Then how was it? Was it like _this?”_ he growled fiercely, crushing his mouth down over his Master's, the kiss hot and demanding, messy and wet and _owning._ He finally broke off with a sharp nip to Obi-Wan's lower lip, panting. “B-because it sure sounds like it was.”

A pained cry of surprised protest ripped out of Obi-Wan and he brought a shaky hand to his tender lip. Anakin was ferocious, demanding, _dominant_ , in a way Obi-Wan had never expected he'd desire in a partner, but the throbbing pleasure-pain in his lip mirrored the pounding of his heart, and he'd _never_ felt like this with, or about, anyone. Exhaling a shuddering breath, he gazed up at Anakin through the mess of bangs falling across his eyes. “N-no. I can assure you, it was..it was never like this.”

Anakin brushed back Obi-Wan's hair with doting fingers, smirking with obvious relief. “Bummer for you, Master. Too bad it wasn't any good.” _Ha, Vos sucks in the sack! I_ knew _it! I can't wait to tell Aayla._

It was Obi-Wan's turn to smirk, amused by Anakin's arrogant presumption. Quinlan may not have had his heart, but it certainly wasn't because he lacked technique. “Oh, I never said _that_ ,” he demurred, trailing his fingers along Anakin's cheek to rest on the nape of his neck, fingering the beginning fringe of curls there. “I n-never,” he hiccuped, “never said I _wanted_ him, either,” he whispered with a comical, conspiratorial wink. “You should listen better to your M-master.”

A shiver raced through Anakin from the tickle of Obi-Wan's fingers in the fine hairs on his neck and his eyes lit up as his beleaguered brain cells finally cobbled together what the other man had said. Or didn't say. He was still too drunk and this constant weird push-pull between them addled him to distraction, but he was ninety-five percent sure Obi-Wan had told him he didn't want Vos. Maybe ninety-nine percent sure?

He cocked his head and planted his hands on his hips. “Yeah? Hey, you know better than anyone I listen well enough when it suits me, especially when it's something I _want_ .” He tugged Obi-Wan by the belt loops against him roughly. “And _this?_ This is definitely something I want, _Master,”_ he admitted, the needy rasp in his voice relaying his frayed control over his pent-up desire for this man.

Obi-Wan let out a surprised grunt at Anakin's continued aggressiveness, which only fueled Anakin's desire to feel more, taste more, _have_ more. “You...you don’t w-want...this,” Obi-Wan insisted, breathless between kisses. He _had_ to put a stop to this. Anakin was young, he was drunk, he would never want—

Anakin moaned a laugh tinged with wild desperation. “ _Trust_ me, I’ve wanted this since I was sixteen,” he promised, the fervent assurance mumbled as his lips ruffled hungrily through the whiskers along Obi-Wan's jaw.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, and closed his eyes, the words dry as they caught in his throat. “I’ve...I've wanted you for almost as long,” he quietly confessed, ashamed and convinced Anakin would push him away right there and then in disgust. _You'd deserve it. He's drunk and he doesn't know what he's doing and you're the Master, you should put a_ _n end_ _to this right no_ _w_ _and walk away_ _._

Only he really, _really_ didn't _want_ to, he sulked obstinately. Obi-Wan wanted Anakin, his own damn Padawan, and propriety _—_ _and me—_ be damned he conceded, whimpering shamelessly as Anakin's hands—instead of shoving him aside—slid down over his ass and pulled him _hard_ against him.

“Oh, stang, are you _serious_?” Anakin whined against his lips, cock impossibly hardening further at the stunning admission, the pressure in his leather pants becoming nearly unbearable. “All this time...kriff, why didn’t you say anything!”

“It would have been completely—” Obi-Wan gasped with a shake of his head, hands slipping, trying to find purchase against the slick leather of Anakin's backside.

“—Inappropriate, yes.” Anakin murmured in a heated breath against his Master's mouth, groaning at the thought of his proper Master having _improper_ desires. “And _uncivilized._ ”

“Completely uncivilized,” Obi-Wan sighed, throwing back his head as Anakin's mouth moved over his jaw and towards his ear. “You-you were with Padmé, nevertheless.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and let out a rueful snort. “No, I _wasn’t_. ”

“But...but...all those outings...with her...those late nights...” Obi-Wan stammered between breaths, drawing Anakin's leg up to hook around his hip, letting his hand roam the underside of Anakin's muscled thigh up to cup his ass.

Anakin snickered and drunkenly continued his exploration of Obi-Wan's ear, tracing his tongue around the lobe. “Not even once. I just made it look like that.”

“You did _what_?” Obi-Wan jerked back, eyebrows knitting together with confusion. “Why would you ever...”

Anakin shrugged with lopsided grin. “Got a reaction out of you, didn't it?” He let out a peal of raucous laughter, jabbing Obi-Wan in the shoulder. “You s-should have _seen_ your face tonight! You could have melted Hoth with that!”

Obi-Wan flinched back, wincing at the memory of the scalding, petty jealousy he'd festered against the Nubian Nightmare—er, _Padmé_ —all this time. “You...you...I cannot believe you did that!”

“Me? At least it wasn't even true, unlike you and Vos!” Anakin threw back with a twinge of jealous petulance.

Obi-Wan reddened. “That was n-nearly as much fiction as your supposed trysts with Padmé. Quin was...well...” he huffed, fumbling for words and wondering why _this_ , of all things _,_ was proving to be the most difficult and humiliating to admit. “He was, well...he was a diversion, alright? I c-couldn't have you and...” he shrugged and ran a nervous hand through his hair, blowing out a shaky breath as he looked away. _“Blast,”_ he swore under his breath.

Anakin grinned _hugely_ . True, he didn't like it _one bit_ that Obi-Wan had been sexing things up with Vos, but Anakin selfishly _loved_ that it was because of _him,_ because Obi-Wan wanted him _so much_ that he'd gone out and found a substitute.

“You were _totally_ thinking about me when you did it, weren't you?” Anakin boasted, thrilled beyond reason to imagine himself as the catalyst for his Master's orgasms with Vos.

“Oh, shut up,” Obi-Wan growled and tugged him back by the braid, crushing his lips against Anakin's to silence that rebellious mouth. Bucking up, he forcefully yanked Anakin up and tossed him against the Six's wing. “Tell me. D-does it somehow help to know that?”

“ _Definitely.”_ Nodding, Anakin's hands wound their way into Obi-Wan's hair, biting and licking and sucking on honey-flavored lips. _“Master...”_ he moaned, rolling them off the wing to stumble and crash against the hull until Obi-Wan was trapped against the Six once more.

Obi-Wan's head cracked against the Six with a thud, drawing him out of his lust-addled haze with a disgruntled huff, unwilling to be sandwiched against the unforgiving durasteel plating any longer. “Oh, I _don't_ think so.”

Raising an eyebrow, he wrenched a hand free from beneath Anakin and gave a clumsy wave of his fingers to the tool bench, grossly overestimating his focus and lacking any sort of finesse with the Force. Tools flew haphazardly far and wide, a couple careening into the Delta Six with a loud, metallic clang. “You are g-gravely mistaken if you think I share your perversion for some kind of...of... _threesome_ with you and your _'girl'_.”

"Hey—" Anakin began, but Obi-Wan had had enough sass from that mouth, and muffled his protest with another searing exchange of hungry, wet kisses. Anakin groaned into each one eagerly, imagining any kind of scenario that would allow him to fuck Obi-Wan _in_ the Six. Preferably while flying.

Upside down.

“Absolutely _not!”_ Obi-Wan protested hotly, catching the fleeting image from Anakin involving naked sweaty limbs, dangerous inverted dives, and a steamy transparisteel canopy, and shook his head profusely, despite the traitorous surge to his cock.

Anakin nodded vigorously in response, overriding his Master's feeble protests. “Absolutely _yes,”_ he whispered, dragging his teeth along Obi-Wan's ear, enjoying the shudder it elicited. “You know you'd like it, admit it.”

Obi-Wan sucked in sharp breath. “I...I'll do no such thing. Diddling mechanicals is _your_ affliction,” he disputed airily, giving Anakin a couple of sloppy pokes in the chest for emphasis. He ducked under and out from Anakin's arm, spinning around off-balance to point at himself and then the Six.

“It's me or her, Anakin. Choose wisely, as it appears,” he made a show of crouching low to investigate her ventral plating, “that _she's_ a... _she,”_ he quipped, stumbling sideways as he stood up, shuffling backwards from Anakin until he tripped on an auxiliary motivator clamp and clumsily fell against the bench.

“Meaning...?” Anakin pouted as Obi-Wan slipped away from him, not following this sudden change, when not even ten seconds ago he'd had Obi-Wan's tongue jammed in his mouth like it belonged there. _Which it totally does._

“Meaning that _she_ has no _cock_ . Though given your choice of _date_ this evening, I suppose it's more what you're used to, hmm? ” Obi-Wan crossed his arms against his chest, more defensively than he would have liked, instantly regretting having brought _that_ up. _What is wrong with you, Kenobi?! Don't bring_ her _into this, not now! Kriff._

Anakin's eyebrows shot up. He'd forgotten about _that._ _Guess I hoped he had forgotten, too. Fuck, how do you say 'Sorry, just kidding when I let your ex blow me?'_ “Not, uh, necessarily?” he reluctantly allowed with an aloof shrug, approaching his Master with arms crossed in imitation. Siri might have been his so-called date tonight, but she was also Obi-Wan's _ex,_ which said a lot more about him than it said about Anakin. “Could say the same about you, you know.”

Obi-Wan tossed his head back with a short, derisive laugh—the last thing in this bloody galaxy he wanted was _Siri Tachi_ . _“Hardly.”_ Pursing his lips, he reached out and tugged on Anakin's hips, dragging him closer. “ Unlike _you_ , it's been quite some time for me , and I can assure you that a _cock,”_ he leaned close to nuzzle his confession along Anakin's smooth cheek, “well, actually, _your_ cock, is the only thing of interest to me this night . Or any night, i-if you must know ,” he practically _giggled_ against Anakin's ear, drunk on the exhilarating freedom of finally, _finally_ just _saying_ it.

Anakin shuddered and his eyes screwed shut, inhaling sharply through his nose and releasing it in a slow groan. _That's it, I'm hallucinating. I've passed out in some 'fresher stall or been dosed with ryll or_ _I'm dead and this is the Force, because there's no way Obi-Wan Kenobi—_ Obi-Wan Kenobi— _just said that._ _To me. About my_ cock. _Holy fucking Force, my Master just said he wants my cock. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck he wants my cock!_

“Y-yeah? Then...then it's a g-good thing...” Anakin stuttered as he used the flats of his palms to push Obi-Wan flat onto his back on the bench and clambered up to kneel across him, eyes fluttering as he lowered his hips to press his groin against Obi-Wan's. “It's a _really_ good thing I've got one,” he said smugly, leaning forward to claim that delicious mouth once more.

“Good to know, it would be s-such a pity if— _nghhh!”_ Obi-Wan choked off a curse as Anakin came to rest heavy and solid across his hips, squeezing his thighs as he pillaged his Master's mouth, laving his tongue over and around his, making the most indiscreet of noises that electrified all of Obi-Wan's senses.

A buzzing vibration went off somewhere beneath Anakin's inner thigh, teasingly close to his cock and making him jump. He was fairly certain Obi-Wan wasn't carrying some kind of sex toy in his pocket— _oh my gods, what if, no, can't be,_ _right? Right???_ _—_ though after everything else he'd discovered about his Master tonight, nothing seemed to be out of the realm of possibilities. He quirked an eyebrow down at his wonderfully disheveled Master, beard mussed and shirt half untucked. “Whatcha got in there, Master?” he drawled suggestively, rocking against the thing as it continued to buzz.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and barked a laugh at the insinuation. “An extra-large purple vibrating double-ended dildo, of course,” he answered glibly, sniggering at the wide-eyed, gaping shock on Anakin's face. “Why, whatever else would one carry in one's pockets for an evening on the town?”

Anakin was _speechless_. He just shook his head as he ghosted his lips over Obi-Wan's while the other man continued to laugh. “Who _are_ you, and what have you done with my Master?”

Obi-Wan's laugh petered off, and he reached up, trailing his fingers along Anakin's cheek fondly. “I'm afraid he's busy right now inappropriately se-seducing his Padawan for his own illicit gains. W-would you like to leave a m-message?” He bit his lip, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable, worried that his crude words and untamed libido were a complete turn-off.

Anakin leaned into the touch, letting his tongue snake out to lap at the thumb caressing his cheek. “Tell him...tell him his Padawan is one fucking lucky bastard,” he whispered seriously, watching his hands run down over the length of the firm, muscled torso pinned beneath him. _“So fucking lucky,”_ he intoned with reverence, glancing up through his lashes. “Tell him he's not doing so badly, either,” he joked with ample conceit. “In fact, it's probably a pretty fair trade.”

Smiling utterly _stupidly_ with relief— _Anakin,_ at least, never seemed to suffer from a lack of confidence—Obi-Wan slid his hand down Anakin's braid, toying with the feathery tip. “C'mere,” he cajoled, “I have a message for you from your Master.” He pulled a grinning Anakin in close, grinning in return . “He wants you to know t- t hat _he's_ the fucking lucky bastard,” he whispered.

Anakin's heart fluttered and his grin widened. “Yes, he _is_ ,” he nodded cockily, bringing his mouth down to Obi-Wan's, just _needing_ to kiss and taste him again, when the buzzing went off again, this time with an added cycle of insistent beeps.

“Really? You're _really_ gonna get that? _Now?_ ” he whined with displeasure, as Obi-Wan twisted his lips away and pushed at him, trying to wedge a hand between them to reach his pocket. _“_ _Fine_ _,”_ he huffed grudgingly as he slid off to the side, having to laugh as he watched Obi-Wan struggle to get his fingers into the tight pocket of his pants.

“I'm a J-Jedi Master. It _could_ be important, you know. Council emergency, Sith attack...s-something _you_ did,” Obi-Wan justified, raising his brow. “Certainly wouldn't be the first time _that_ happened... _Kriff_ these pants!” he swore, fishing two fingers around in search of his comm.

“Won't be the last, either.” Anakin folded his arms with a smirk, giving Obi-Wan a long once-over. “About those pants...”

Obi-Wan gave him a shove. “I know, _I know.”_ he said defensively, checking the other pocket for a second time.

Anakin bit his lower lip, shaking his head slowly. “No, I don't think you do...” he muttered, reaching down to palm his hand along the other man's thigh, feeling the outline of taut muscle flexing beneath his fingers.

Obi-Wan paused and sucked in a sharp breath at the hand making its way so very warm and promising up his leg. “Anakin,” he warned, with just enough heat to discourage Anakin...for now. His fingers finally closed around the comm and yanked the device out with a triumphant smile, frowning when it took him another three attempts to thumb the damn thing on.

“Er...uh...Kenobi here.”

“ _Pissy-Wan!”_

_'Not important'_ he mouthed with a roll of his eyes. Sitting up with a groan, he swung his legs over the edge of the bench, closing his eyes as he swayed and fell back against Anakin. “Quinlan.”

“ _About damn time you answer! Listen, man. You okay?”_

_It's that stupid asshole_ _Vos!_ Anakin growled possessively, taking the opportunity to position himself snugly behind Obi-Wan, letting his legs dangle to either side as he tugged him firmly against his chest and began feasting on Obi-Wan's neck. “Tell'm to kriff off, you're mine, all mine, _mine,”_ Anakin mumbled against his skin, tickling devilishly against the soft hairs on Obi-Wan's neck.

Obi-Wan shivered and closed his eyes with smile, ridiculously pleased by Anakin's positively rude demand. “'m f-fine, Quin,” he stammered, trying—and failing—to _not_ sound like he was being necked to death, which he absolutely was but Quinlan certainly didn't need to know _that._ _“Stop it,”_ he whispered half-heartedly, belaying his own order as he arched back to sink his fingers into Anakin's short curls with a sigh.

“ _Stop what? I didn't copy. C'mon man, I'm sorry about Sky—”_

Struggling for words and any kind of motor dexterity, he eventually managed to bring the comm to his mouth. “'s fine, Quin, don' worry—” Obi-Wan broke off with a loud moan, the comm rolling out of his grasp as Anakin's other hand slipped between his thighs and cupped him with a deliberate swipe of his thumb along the zipper. _“Nnnnggghhhh!”_

“ _Obi-Wan? Seriously, man, are you okay?_ _Need Magic Master Vos to come by_ _to show you_ _some tricks?_ _”_

Obi-Wan snorted, his lip curling with disgust at Quin's continued vulgarity and _interference_ . Why would he need Quin, when Anakin was currently engaged in behavior Obi-Wan was _certain_ he'd not learned from his Master, and while that was enough to inflame his jealousy, right now his appreciation far outweighed anything else—and Vos just needed to _shut up._

Gesturing impatiently with a flick of his fingers, the comm took flight directly for Obi-Wan's waiting hand, when Anakin pushed him aside with an irritated growl and intercepted the comm with a hard _smack_. He'd heard _enough_. “Hey, Vos? Yeah, you asshole, stop calling my Master. Why don't you take your magic shavit somewhere else, you filthy gundark's—”

Stifling a laugh, Obi-Wan pried the comm out of Anakin's hand, giving him a sharp elbow in the process. “I'm fine, Quin. I'll...” he gasped as Anakin's roving lips found another sweet spot just below his ear, “I'll c-call you in the m-m- _morning,”_ he finished breathlessly, flipping off the comm and tossing it carelessly aside. Leaning his full weight back on to Anakin's strong chest, he turned his face into Anakin's neck, mouthing lightly along his smooth jawline. “You're s-so uncivilized, your Master should have taught you better manners.”

Anakin flinched away with a laugh from the tickle of Obi-Wan's beard against his sensitive skin. “I'm sure he did, but he'd be the first to tell you I was never a good listener.”

“Hmmm...” Obi-Wan hummed noncommittally, sliding out of Anakin's warm embrace and off the bench. He turned to face Anakin with a tilt of his head. “Does this mean we're done talking about Quinlan? Because I would _very much_ like to be done talking about Quinlan.”

“Depends, I guess,” Anakin shrugged, and dropped to the floor as well, reaching out with one hand to crook a finger into one of his Master's belt loops.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, gazing down at Anakin's long fingers, allowing his Padawan to steadily draw him closer until their mouths were just inches apart. “Depends? Oh, _do_ tell,” he asked with a soft insolence, lip curling into a smirk.

Anakin thought of all the things he _wanted_ to say: _Depends on if he still thinks he can twist your cock and brag about it. Depends on if you're still gonna let him fuck you. Depends on how you feel about me fucking_ ending _him if he lays_ _a finger_ _on you ever again._ He sighed to himself, knowing full fucking well that there was only one question he wanted to ask.

He dragged a finger across Obi-Wan's forehead, smoothing across that damnable mocking eyebrow. “Depends on...on w-whether or not you're _mine_ , and not his,” he asked quietly, trying so kriffing hard to sound _mature_ , but knowing he sounded a lot closer to childish and needy, and hating it. He frowned petulantly, blinking hard as he looked past Obi-Wan's shoulder.

“W-what? _His_ ? Of course n—” Obi-Wan's eyes widened, a nervous flutter taking off in his gut, bravado melting at the whisper of vulnerability that had crept into Anakin's normally arrogant demeanor. “ Oh, Anakin.” He traced shaky fingers up and around Anakin's ear and down the length of his Padawan braid. S _ay it, stop being a coward and just kriffing say it._

“Quinlan would be the first to tell you that I've n-never been _his_ , because I...well...” he swallowed hard, cupping Anakin's chin to look him in the eye. “I've always b-been yours. Whether you wanted me or not.”

Mercurial as ever, Anakin went from solemn to seductive at lightspeed, breaking into a huge grin teetering on an all-out leer. _“_ So...even when you were with him, you _were_ thinking about me, huh?”

Obi-Wan blushed and swatted at him. “Really? This is my reward for confessing to a completely deviant obsession with my very own Padawan? Perhaps I need to seek out a soul healer instead.”

Anakin chuckled, low and dirty against his Master's neck as his hands found and groped Obi-Wan's ass. “You could, but it definitely wouldn't be a much fun as _this_ ,” he teased, punctuating his point with a slow grind of his hips.

“N-no...definitely not,” Obi-Wan coughed, bringing Anakin's eager, disrespectful, _delicious_ mouth to his to take all that Anakin was willing to give.

* * *

“Obi-Wan? _Obi-Wan?”_ With a sly grin, Quin clicked off his comm, shoving it into his vest pocket. “Well, sweetheart? Proof enough for you?”

Aayla pretended to frown. “You call that proof?” she teased, jutting out her hip and tapping her foot impatiently.

“Come on, you heard him! _And_ Skywalker! They're together, and by the sounds of it—did you _hear_ all that panting? Kriff, I knew it'd be hot—they're...you know... _together_.” He waggled his brows, slowly pulling a dubious Aayla towards him. “So...how about we follow their excellent example? A little panting, a lot of heat... Your place or mine—where would you like your Quinny?”

“I'm not setting foot in your panty palace, you've probably not cleaned the place since I moved out,” Aayla sniffed and rolled her eyes as she relaxed in his strong arms, melting a little as one large hand moved over the crown of her lekku. “You don't seriously believe I'm going to fall for that _Magic Master_ crap, do you?”

Quin's quiet laugh rumbled in his chest. “Maybe you already have?” he asked hopefully, tilting her chin up.

“You forget, I know all your _tricks_ , Master Vos,” she whispered against his lips, reaching up to cup her small hand against his stubbled cheek affectionately.

“Oh, I don't know about that. Wasn't too long ago I was out on Zeltros, maybe I picked up something new.”

Aayla fell against his chest, shaking with laughter. “Oh, I'm _sure_ that's probably true. How many trips to Luminara did it take this time? That last case of D'Qarrian crabs lasted for _weeks._ ”

“That's not what—!” Quin groaned as desperation seized him. “Kriff, sweetheart, you sure know how to make a guy beg.”

Aayla smiled sweetly, nodding as she sank her fingers into his dreads, drawing him closer. “Didn't you always tell me that's the only way to go?” she murmured, finally allowing Quinlan the kiss he'd been chasing all night.

She drew out his bottom lip with a soft _pop_. “And to _always_ leave them wanting more?”

“Yeah, but...” the Kiffar whined, “Quinny's been wanting more _all night,_ and I'm ready for the big show.”

“Show? There was a show this year, mon?”

Aayla turned around, screeching in surprise at the figure strolling languidly out of the shadows. “Kit! You made it!” She launched herself at the Nautolan, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Force, you've missed a _damn_ sorry excuse for a party.”

“Not true!” Quin interjected, looking affronted. “It was a _great_ party! Until now,” he added sullenly under his breath.

Kit laughed heartily, swinging the lithe Twi'lek around. “And I've missed _you_ , bebe,” he agreed, pressing his forehead to hers.

Quin's eyes narrowed at the building heat between the two, suddenly not sure if it was just jealousy he felt stirring his blood. _All those headtails..._ _twisting and writhing together_ _..._ He gave his head a hard shake to clear his mind—he was _not_ thinking what he thought he was thinking.

_Not._

Seriously. He _wasn't_.

He cleared his throat loudly, deliberately _not_ watching how Aayla's lekku twitched and curled with every slide against Fisto's tresses. “So, uh...what brings you by, Fisto? Heard you were off-planet?”

Kit nodded, regarding the other man with a smirk. “Yeah...got all the way out to Muunilinst, and the negotiations aren't scheduled for another week, if you can believe it.” With a toothy grin, he set Aayla down and they both turned to Quin expectantly.

Quin only shrugged and looked away guiltily. “Hey, man, guess the Force works in mysterious ways.” Puffing out his chest imposingly, he strode over to Aayla, wrapping a possessive arm about her shoulders. He turned her away from Kit with a squeeze and leaned in close, lips grazing her lekku as he moved to her ear. “So, sweetheart, we had a deal...” he whispered loudly, winking at the Nautolan for good measure as he made his claim.

Kit smiled far too knowingly for Quinlan's comfort, looking between the former Master and Padawan with those fathomless shining eyes in which Quin could see his own desperation reflected. “A deal, you say?” he asked, sidling up to the Twi'lek's other side. “Please, do tell.”

Aayla bit her lip as she looked between the two men, her lekku broadcasting her indecision with a petulant flutter.

“Oh, _stang_.”

* * *

“Yo, Skywalker! You over here?”

Ferus Olin was...concerned. Yes, Ferus was _concerned_ because he was a Jedi Knight, and Jedi Knights didn't acknowledge feelings like _disappointment_ and _blue balls_ , because otherwise he'd be _fucking pissed off_.

So no, Ferus was merely _concerned._ Concerned that Skywalker had missed their agreed-upon appointment for a little reprise of last year's 'fresher tutorial, and thus Ferus had left the Outlander in search of his unreliable, irresponsible, and irritatingl y...irritating agemate. That he'd been anticipating discovering how much Skywalker had...progressed...in the last year was beside the point; he was simply _concerned_ for the Padawan's welfare, nothing more.

“Skywalker!” Ferus hurried around the corner and slid to a stop when he spied a familiar backside and Padawan braid, oblivious to anything but the mouth that seemed Sith-bent on devouring him. “Oh, come _on_! Hey, Chosen Asshole, you said 0130 at the Outlander, and you were a no-show,” he called out crossly. “Yo! I'm talking to you!” He strode up to Anakin, grabbing him by the shoulder to get his attention. “It's not like you got a better...” he squinted, then reared back in surprise, “...o-offer?”

“ _Olin,”_ Anakin grumbled, rolling his eyes as he _very_ reluctantly maneuvered himself around to face Ferus.

“Well, I, for one, would _certainly_ say he has,” Obi-Wan observed with mock outrage, before snorting loudly and collapsing against Anakin, shaking with silent laughter. Clearing his throat, he lifted his head and brushed futilely at his tousled up hair, trying to give Ferus a stern, _masterly_ , eyebrow. He failed _spectacularly_ , hiding his face in Anakin's hair to stifle his laughter once more. “No o-offense intended, of course.”

“ _M-master,”_ Anakin cackled, falling hard against Obi-Wan. His head lolled alongside Obi-Wan's and he grinned goofily, bunting his nose against his Master's. “ _Totally_ true, though. Best offer _everrrrrrr._ ”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, squashing Anakin's face with a clumsy shove of his hand. “W-we have company, Anakin. Do try to behave,” he scolded with what he believed to be a straight face—it really wasn't, it was closer to a cheeky smirk—even as he stole a secretive hand down to tweak Anakin's backside in retaliation.

“Hah!” Anakin choked, twitching away from the attack. _My Master...my Master just pinched my ass. In public._ _Obi-Wan Kenobi just_ pinched _my_ ass. He shot an incredulous look over his shoulder. _“Yes,_ Master,” he obeyed, the saucy quirk of his lips anything _but_ submissive.

“M-m-master Ken-nobi?” Ferus stuttered, unable to keep from staring at the scene in front of him. Tools and supplies littered the hangar deck, Skywalker's mouth looked as though it had been punched, it was so red and swollen, and Master Kenobi was, if Ferus had a correct count—and he had always, of course, received top marks in mathematics—missing a hand.

“Knight Olin, did you re-require some kind of assistance?” Obi-Wan addressed him, propping his chin on Anakin's shoulder, giving the young Knight a bored look.

Ferus continued to just _stare_ , not comprehending what he appeared to be interrupting, particularly when Master Kenobi's missing hand made a fleeting appearance as it snaked around Skywalker's waist, just beneath the hem of his shirt. He blinked a couple of times, certain he had been mistaken. Master Kenobi...wouldn't. _Would he?_

Ferus knew other Masters did—he only had to look as far as his own Master, though Master Tachi had _never_ laid one red nail on him, a fact that he used to be proud of but wasn't so sure as of late, seeing that she seemed to be rather...gracious...with her affection towards others. But Master Kenobi? He was a respected Jedi Master, a General... certainly _not_ Skywalker's type — Ferus didn't exactly know _what_ was, but it couldn't be someone as dispassionate, honorable, and principled as Master Kenobi was. _Could it?_

“ _Olin._ ” Anakin impatiently snapped his fingers to get his attention, hooking a thumb back at the man draped so naturally, comfortably, across his shoulders. “Hey, uh...kinda busy here, y'know?” He widened his eyes pointedly, slowly mouthing _'Go. Away. Asshole.'_

Checking his chrono once more, Ferus squinted at the duo with consternation, annoyed that Skywalker was obviously not a man of his word— _big surprise_ . “ But i t's...it's past 0130,” he pointed out, tapping his chrono eagerly . “ C'mon. W e...we had... _you know.”_

“Yeah, we _did_ , but...” Anakin glared menacingly at the oblivious Olin. _“Now we don't.”_

Obi-Wan was following the conversation with avid interest, his temper flaring hotter with each attempt by Ferus to proposition Anakin followed by each of Anakin's adamant refusals. He narrowed his eyes, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as the brazen little bantha's turd tried once again.

_This_ _one_ _has the sheer audacity to come here and proposition_ my _Padawan, in front of_ me _, after_ _he sullied Anakin during that_ _pornographic performance at the Outlander?_ Obi-Wan's blood roiled hot with jealousy and a possessive rage that might otherwise drive him to a month of solitary meditation on the wisdom of _'there is no passion, only serenity,'_ but right now that passion felt _exactly_ right given the presumptive impertinence of the boy in front of him. He fixed the annoying eager beaver with a slow, dangerous smile generally reserved for younglings and Sith Lords—between which, in his experience, the difference was often difficult to discern.

“Gentlemen. _Gentlemen.”_ Obi-Wan slunk out from behind Anakin and strolled over with what Anakin outrageously called—and Obi-Wan fiercely denied, it was so utterly preposterous—his _'Negotiator swagger'_ , crossing his arms as he planted himself in front of Ferus with an imperious lift of his eyebrow.

“Knight Olin, you had an agreement with Anakin? A sordid encounter in a filthy 'fresher stall, I would presume?” He tapped a finger across his lips as he pretended to scrutinize the earnest young man. With a sarcastic _tsk,_ he patted Ferus on the shoulder. “Yes, well...no. _I don't think so.”_

Anakin, in the middle of wildly shooing Olin away behind Obi-Wan's back—he _really_ didn't need that asshole kriffing things up by reminding Obi-Wan about his evening's exploits, not when he'd already gotten rid of Vos and somehow managed to explain about Siri, and _fuck_ , his Master could kiss and he really, _really_ wanted to get back to kissing _—_ heard Obi-Wan's voice slide down an octave. Anakin coughed and pointed at Olin, drawing a finger theatrically across his throat with glee. _Oh, this is gonna be good. Olin, you're a dead man walking._

Ferus frowned, puzzled, though not terribly surprised, by Skywalker's stupid antics. “M-master Kenobi? I...I meant no disrespect to you nor Padawan Skywalker. Anakin and I...you see...um...” Ferus faltered and took a step back, withering under the normally placid Jedi Master's fierce glare. He was bewildered, unable to reconcile this man with the virtuous Master Kenobi he'd idolized for years—he'd even taken his _Jedi Principles For Padawans_ class three times!

Obi-Wan hissed between his teeth. “Hmm. _yes_ . I _saw_ you both. As did _every single Jedi_ in the Outlander,” he acknowledged tartly, pursing his lips in palpable dista s te at the unwanted memory, even as his cock betrayed him with a jolt of wanton appreciation for their public exhibition, _damn them_ . “It would be to your benefit should you _never_ speak of that again, Ferus. ”

Anakin winced, scrubbing a hand over his face. _Yeah, I don't need to be reminded of that, either. Even though we_ were _fucking hot,_ Anakin thought smugly as he swaggered over to Obi-Wan, sliding his arms around his torso from behind. “Told ya, Olin. _Busy,_ ” he boasted with a wide grin, rubbing his cheek alongside his Master's bearded jaw.

“ _Anakin,”_ Obi-Wan growled under his breath, annoyed that his juvenile posturing was undermining a _very_ important negotiation. _Typical_ , he groused uncharitably, side-eying Anakin with exasperation and a sharp elbow to the ribs. _Almost a Knight, still can't take him anywhere._

Straightening up—which threw his precarious relationship with balance into jeopardy—he sagged back against Anakin and blinked slowly, trying to steady himself even though there were _two_ Ferus Olins currently cowering before him. _At least it's only two—_ _all I need is a saber for each hand._ He patted himself down, only then realizing that neither his ridiculous pants, and _certainly_ not Anakin's leather cockwalkers, were capable of concealing a weapon anywhere. He shrugged his indifference. There were other ways, and he? He was a Jedi Master.

But first, he'd try diplomacy. _It's my specialty, after all._

“Ferus, I t-trust _we_ have an agreement, one that supersedes any you may have made with Anakin, yes?” Obi-Wan fairly purred, offering Ferus his most faux, charming _Negotiator_ smile, all teeth, though at the moment a little on the manic side as he sensed victory was nigh. “You see, I...I already had no choice but to neutralize Master Vos this evening; I would rather not draw sabers against you, F-ferus, should you foolishly stray near my Padawan again,” he warned cheerfully, giving him a good-natured clap on the shoulder.

“Good. I am pleased we've reached this accord with Ferus, aren't you, Anakin?” he asked blithely, closing his eyes to burrow his nose in Anakin's neck. “Sabers would have been easier,” he mumbled petulantly against Anakin's pulse point.

“You think?” Anakin coughed, pressing his lips to Obi-Wan's hair, finding the whole exchange _hilarious_. Drunk Obi-Wan trying to negotiate Olin's ass _away_ and dumbfuck Olin not seeing the gundark's nest he'd stepped into? _Classic._

Feeling his honor impugned somehow—it had nothing to do with his level of intoxication and especially not _Skywalker—_ Ferus pouted and tapped his foot agitatedly. “Master Kenobi? Uh...yeah, I don't think you can proclaim an accord when one of the parties does not agree to the stipulations. Um...yeah.”

Obi-Wan cracked open an eye, heaving a very put-upon sigh. “I'm _The Negotiator,_ I can do whatever I damn well please,” he grumbled, momentarily weighing the pros and cons of disposing of Ferus right here and now. _Pro: no more Ferus, Anakin mine. Con: Life in prison, no Anakin, and a lifetime of looking over my shoulder for Siri._ “ _Why_ is he still here, Anakin?” he lamented in a whisper far louder than he'd intended, twirling Anakin's braid around his fingers.

Anakin snorted. “Maybe,” he whispered just as loudly, winking at Olin while running his tongue over his lower lip with obscene relish, “Maybe he wants to watch?” _We'll see who scores a perfect 10 now, asshole._

Obi-Wan choked and slugged Anakin in the arm in answer. The thought of Ferus, or _anyone_ , being privy to even a single sordid moment with Anakin he'd creatively envisioned over the last few years—and there were so, _so_ many—ripped away any remaining politesse he'd had. Ferus, Quinlan, Siri, the _entire fucking Jedi Order_ had had their turn with Anakin. It was _his_ turn, his and his alone.

_Anakin is mine._

“ _Too fucking bad,”_ Obi-Wan slurred, struggling to lift his heavy head from Anakin's comfortable shoulder. With a sharp poke to the chest, he smacked a loud sloppy kiss on his Padawan's cheek. “You've...you've had enough of an audience. Don't wanna share you...anymore.”

Surprised and uncharacteristically humbled, Anakin's stomach flipped at the possessive words, ducking his chin down as the color rose in his cheeks. “Don't wanna be shared, M-master,” he confided, knowing full well that everything he'd done tonight was damning evidence to the contrary. _Idiot. You could have had this, instead of wasting your time with losers like Olin._ “Never did.”

Obi-Wan sighed happily with a lopsided grin, grazing his fingers along Anakin's cheek again. “No?”

“No,” Anakin repeated with a shake of his head, squeezing Obi-Wan tighter in his arms.

“Skywalker? _Skywalker._ Hey...so...maybe later, yeah?” Ferus had turned several shades of red after being forced to witness what was undoubtedly _the_ most nauseating exchange of caresses and platitudes between The Chosen Asshole and his Master in the entire history of the Jedi Order _._ Ferus' lip curled and he ran a nervous hand through the gold streak in his hair, irritated that he had come across the city to make good on their _agreement_ , and Skywalker wasn't just reneging, the kriffing jerk was ignoring him completely.

Though he could hardly fault Skywalker, really, as Master Kenobi had wrapped Skywalker's braid around his fist—the pleasurable pain of a good braid tug was about the _only_ thing Ferus missed about his—and was currently either providing Skywalker resuscitation, or, probably more likely, causing Skywalker to be in dire need of it shortly.

“ _Skywalker,”_ Ferus tried one last time, just to be thorough, verifying the information as any responsible Jedi should, of course. He was purposely ignoring Master Kenobi, still stung by the man's refusal to admit he'd arbitrarily altered the standard protocols of negotiation. The threat of bodily harm, he assumed, was just some kind of Knights Out hazing ritual for the new class. Right?

Anakin reluctantly pried his lips away from Obi-Wan's with a grieved sound. _“What?_ Kriff, Olin, take a hint, would you?” he scowled, waving him off dismissively. _“_ _Go.”_

Obi-Wan huffed his impatience as he muttered several curses into the hangar rafters, certain now that this had to have been orchestrated by Olin's former Master to torture him, because no self-respecting Jedi Knight could be such an infuriatingly ignorant pain in the ass nuisance otherwise. Eyeing the nearby lift, relief washed over him as the Force _finally_ blessed him with a non-lethal solution to their Ferus Olin quandary and he offered up his eternal thanks.

“Knight Olin, as it seems _you_ are in no hurry to leave, we...we must, unfortunately...take our leave of _you_. It's quite late and we really should be...” Biting his lip, Obi-Wan's other hand grabbed a fistful of Anakin's shirt as he shuffled and stumbled backwards, urgently and awkwardly maneuvering them both toward the lift. Obi-Wan felt like he'd been hard for _hours_ , he had been desperate _for years_ , he wanted Anakin _right fucking now_ , and this karking fool was _literally_ standing between him and his heart's—okay, and _yes_ , his cock's—desire.

Tossing his hair out of his eyes, he caught Anakin's gaze and jerked his head toward the lift with a waggle of eyebrows. “We should be...g-getting to our quarters, right Anakin? _Surely_ even _you,_ Ferus, can understand _that,”_ he scolded with unmistakable sarcasm and one last intimidating glower, even as the tip of his boot caught on Anakin's and both crashed unceremoniously against each other in their haste.

“He means we're gonna fuck, Olin!” Anakin called over his shoulder with pride, relishing the tenacious pull on his braid as he obediently allowed himself to be dragged away from a fully scandalized Ferus Olin.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and shoved him into the lift, punching the correct code for their floor on the fourth try. _“Uncouth,”_ he chided, grinning nevertheless as Anakin immediately tackled him against one of the lift's walls. Obi-Wan grunted from the impact, reveling in the firm press of Anakin's lean body along the length of his own once more. “ _Definitely_ uncouth,” he nodded, giving Anakin's nose a playful flick.

“Hey!” Anakin protested, chasing Obi-Wan's finger with his teeth. “I d-don't even know what that means,” he admitted with a shake of his head, running a hand down Obi-Wan's side to rest on his hip. “But I know _you_ like it, so it must be good.”

“Hmm...” Obi-Wan smirked, shifting beneath Anakin to slide his hands up the other man's back. “It means _you._ Look it up in the Galactic Standard Basic Lexicon, and there's a holo of—”

Anakin cried out in protest, covering his Master's mouth with a hand. “ _I'm_ uncouth? Poor Olin's never going to recover. _Master_ Kenobi threatened him with sabers at dawn and then called him stupid!” Anakin fell against the other man, shaking with laughter. “That was kriffing _awesome_ , by the way.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrow and mumbled against Anakin's hand, laving his palm with quick swipes of the tip of his tongue.

“Stop that!” Anakin yelped, scrubbing his palm against his thigh to stop the fiercely ticklish sensation. “What did you say?” Not waiting for an answer, he resumed his thorough exploration of Obi-Wan's neck with renewed enthusiasm.

“I _said, 'And whose fault is that'?_ ” Obi-Wan repeated, sucking in a deep breath as Anakin trailed his lips down the column of his throat and over the exposed skin along his open collar. “He w-wasn't soliciting _me_ , now was he?” He chuckled at the thought of _Ferus_ propositioning him, but the thought quickly turned sour. _I'm sure Ferus is but one of a multitude of suitors seeking Anakin's company_ _this evening_ _._

_At least Quinlan knows better than to show up_ _here._ Though Obi-Wan was uncertain as to whom Quinlan would be there to seduce. _Knowing him, probably both of us._ He grimaced at the thought, because Quinlan _absolutely_ would suggest such an outrageous thing with that idiot dirty smirk like he was the first being to ever have a perverted thought. _Oh, no. I am not sharing Anakin with you, old friend. Not ever._ With a private, pleased smile, he recalled with reassurance Anakin's supremely discourteous dismissal of Quin earlier; no, his Padawan would not be having any of _that_ whatsoever.

Obi-Wan found that Anakin's rudely territorial behavior gratified him far more than it really should. _It probably makes me some kind of Sith, my soul on the road to ultimate ruin, irredeemably lost to the whims of attachment, a carnal possession of The Chosen One, a slave to the_ _all-_ _consuming fires of passion and love._

Obi-Wan also found he really didn't care one fucking bit anymore. If he was going to Sith Hell, he was damn well going to enjoy every sinful moment along the way.

Sighing heavily as he pulled back, Anakin _almost_ looked sheepish. “That...that was _before,_ Master,” he reasoned, rolling his eyes as though Obi-Wan were dense. _Which he totally is, fuck._ It wasn't like Anakin was _proud_ that Olin had shown up planning to get his cock sucked _again—_ okay, so maybe he was a _little_ proud he could reduce Olin to begging for it—but it wasn't like he _wanted_ that annoying asshole. He'd only wanted Obi-Wan, like, _forever,_ and it was damn time Obi-Wan understood that.

Confused, and more than a little offended by Anakin's condescending and disrespectfully insolent tone, Obi-Wan stiffened, holding Anakin back with a press of his hand to his chest. “ _Before?_ What does that mean?” Glaring, he dropped his eyes, jaw working as he inhaled sharply. “If you're trying to tell me you've had other offers, believe me, _I am aware,”_ he ground out, feeling that sickening jealous lurch in the pit of his stomach all over again as a parade of degenerate Jedi marched through his mind, mad with their debauched lust for his uninhibited exhibitionist Padawan.

_Super_ annoyed now, Anakin just rolled his eyes again. _Exceptionally dense. “_ _Nooooooooo_ , before... _this,_ ” he groaned, irritated that Obi-Wan just wasn't _getting_ it, and gestured excitedly between the two of them.

Still confused and becoming irritated that _Anakin_ was irritated—he's _the one being coy and_ _arrogant—_ Obi-Wan scowled and exaggeratedly copied the gesture, responding with equal insolence. _“This?”_

Anakin nodded spiritedly, wrapping his hand around Obi-Wan's on his chest. “And before... _this_ ,” he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips over his Master's in a feathery kiss.

_Oh?_ _Ohhhh._ Obi-Wan smiled into the kiss, relaxing his guard as the jealousy gave way to the pleasurable warmth of understanding and desire. “Ah, I think I'm beginning to understand. But p-perhaps you should explain further?” he mumbled with a nod. “To be certain I have all the facts, of course.”

“Of course.” Laughing with relief, Anakin ended the kiss, grazing his cheek against Obi-Wan's beard as he slid both hands down over the silky softness of the sleeves of Obi-Wan's shirt. “Well, um, Master? Uh, yeah...you should also know, um...it was definitely...” With predatory smirk and a sudden clench of his fists, he roughly pinned Obi-Wan's hands above his head with a _smack_ to the lift's wall. “ _..._ _d_ _efinitely_ before this.”

Caught by surprise, the thrill of arousal coursed hot and fast through Obi-Wan like a Kashyyyk forest fire, heart pounding out a staccato beat as he thrashed against the restrictive hold. Eyes widening, his pupils darkened as his gaze bore into Anakin's, reflecting the raw and barely restrained passion he saw there. “S-so you _did_ get a better offer, then?” he challenged in a husky whisper, nearly suffocating from the cloying desire hanging heavy and oppressive in the close confines of the lift carriage.

“Uh huh,” was about all Anakin was able to articulate, entranced as he was by the way his Master arched and strained against him, caught in the feedback loop building between them in the Force, stoking their mutual _need_ to unbearable levels. Obi-Wan let out a sharp gasp—he obviously felt it, too; Anakin only had to spare a downward glance down to verify that Obi-Wan was _definitely_ feeling it _,_ though Anakin thought all of Coruscant could probably feel it by now and the entire planet was busy in a global fuckfest, _you're welcome,_ _by the way_ _,_ he thought smugly—but Anakin hushed him with a single press of his fingers to Obi-Wan's parted lips.

Anakin watched his finger trail slowly down over the whiskers on his Master's chin, over his throat, the divot between his collarbones, and down to swirl through the wisps of reddish gold beckoning to him from the open collar of his shirt. _Kriff, he's gorgeous. He's gorgeous and fucking hot and he_ has _to be mine._ He knew it was awful, selfish, totally unbecoming of a Jedi Knight—maybe he'd never make it to Knight, and probably rightly so—but Anakin _knew_ he couldn't share Obi-Wan.

“ _Just...”_ the word came out in a harsh rasp, so rough, so _needy,_ forcing him to clear his throat to try again.

“Just so we're clear, Master. _No one_ is _allowed_ to solicit you.” _Or touch you, or fucking_ look _at you_ , he wanted to add, though he was pretty certain the Council looked down on greed, and the courts wouldn't see it as justifiable homicide— _though it totally would be—_ and, okay, he could see where some might find it weird and creepy, and _yes,_ he figured Obi-Wan would so not be okay with Anakin dictating his every move— _and he thinks_ I'm _stubborn—_ but that didn't stop Anakin from _thinking_ it.

“Okay? No one. I don't care what happened _before_ , I don't care if the Chancellor himself came to the door, I'll kick anyone's ass who even _thinks_ they can have you. You're mine, Obi-Wan. _Everyone_ knows it. Even that _sleemo_ Vos,” Anakin vowed with a jealous growl, tipping Obi-Wan's chin up to meet his heated stare. _“_ _Especially_ Vos.”

“ _Yours?”_ Obi-Wan choked on the word, knowing the _masterly_ response would be admonishment of such carnal avarice, but it turned him on to an unholy degree and he desperately wanted to hear more of it come out of that sinfully proprietary mouth. “Is...is that right? So...no Chancellor?” He clucked his tongue. “What a pity. Well then...what about...Mundi? One of your friends, perhaps?” He waited a beat, then smugly lifted his chin. “Mace?”

“No. No. _And fucking no.”_ Anakin growled again, slamming Obi-Wan's raised arms against the wall with each denial as he ravished his Master's neck, intent on leaving _his_ mark, so that _everyone_ would see Obi-Wan was his.

Obi-Wan barked out a laugh, moaning softly as Anakin's teeth pricked his skin in little sharp nips. He'd always been aware that Anakin had an unusually narrow sense of legitimate, acceptable, behavior from other beings when it came to his Master—he had half a dozen or more mission reports recounting incidents involving various ' _misunderstandings_ _'_ Anakin had instigated with local officials, male courtiers, and barmaids to support this deduction—but _this?_ No, this was something else entirely. Anakin was staking his claim and literally marking his territory—if the throbbing warmth on his collarbone was any indication— _and_ _that territory is..._

Recognition finally, _finally_ dawned—he was still really quite blitzed—but he finally understood what the Force had been trying to tell him _all night_ , and he sent her a silent prayer of gratitude for her patience.

_It's me. Sweet kriffing Force, it's me._

“Ana-Anakin,” Obi-Wan gulped for air as he lurched upward, breaking free of Anakin's grasp with enough inertia to crash them both against the opposite wall of the lift. He hungrily devoured Anakin's sweet plump lips, crawling his fingers up through the short curls on his neck, cradling the back of his head while he feverishly explored every inch of Anakin's mouth. “Can't you...” Barely coherent and fumbling for words, Obi-Wan made some kind of awkward upward gesture with his hand and then wiggled his fingers. “F-faster?” Under ordinary circumstances he'd _never_ endorse such blatant abuse of Anakin's gift for machines, but surely these were no _ordinary_ circumstances.

“Hmm?” Anakin rumbled, squinting open an eye but otherwise unwilling to separate even a nano-fraction from Obi-Wan's questing tongue, sharp teeth, and the scratchy-soft contrast of his beard and lips. Feeling drunk all over again from the heady desperation bleeding through Obi-Wan's shields to mix with his own raging need, Anakin could hardly focus enough to form words. Thankfully, machines didn't actually need _words._

“Mmm-hmm,” Anakin groaned into Obi-Wan's mouth with pleased surprise at the unusual demand, and reached out blindly towards the control panel. With a twist of his wrist, and Obi-Wan would _swear_ he heard a snap of fingers, the lift lurched skyward alarmingly.

Distracted by the taste of Obi-Wan— _does he_ bathe _in chocolate?—_ and his control still hampered by the lingering alcohol in his system, Anakin neglected to remember to _slow_ the lift, which came to a crashing halt at their level, sending both Jedi careening to the floor in a jumbled mess of limbs.

Draped half over his Master, Anakin was the first to laugh, particularly at the complete _mess_ Obi-Wan Kenobi was, sprawled out on the floor, hair cascading over one eye, shirt having lost a button somewhere, though Anakin was pretty sure his own careless impatience was the culprit, not the crash. Shaking with giggles, he brushed aside the fringe of bangs. “S-Sorry about that. You okay?”

“ _Kriff,”_ Obi-Wan swore, pushing himself up on his elbows with a grunt. “I'm sure _you_ are, seeing that I'm your crash cushion.” With a roll of his eyes, he then burst out laughing as well, giving Anakin's braid a sharp tug. “Perhaps your trials need to be postponed, if this is your idea of mastery and control.”

“Oh, yeah?” Anakin retorted, pushing the other man back down to the floor, shifting so that his knee slid up to rest just so between Obi-Wan's legs. “I'll show you _mastery_ , and when I'm done with that, maybe if you're lucky, _control.”_ He bit his lip, panting as hovered over Obi-Wan's mouth, gaze restless as it flicked between the other man's darkened eyes and waiting mouth.

Obi-Wan's hand found Anakin's leather-clad backside, bringing him closer with a roll of his hips. He hissed at the pressure against his groin, wanting, needing more. “That sounds...rather...arrogant,” he panted, folding his fingers around Anakin's braid to draw him down. “Though I do promise I'll allow you to _try,”_ he said hoarsely.

Anakin stopped just short of Obi-Wan's waiting mouth. “You know what Master Yoda says, _'Do or do not, there is no try.'”_ He licked his lips thoughtfully, watching his Master's eyes track every flick and flutter of his tongue. “Guess I better... _do._ ”

Obi-Wan nodded sagely, though his short, shallow breaths and the thunder of his heart betrayed his seemingly calm exterior. “Yes, please... _do,_ ” he quipped, melting with Anakin into a scorching exchange on what he knew was a filthy lift floor and not giving a shavit because any remaining brain cells he had left after drinking a small moon's amount of intoxicants tonight were being incinerated one by one as Anakin's hand slid up between them and _oh kriff_ pressed the heel of his palm just right on his cock.

Anakin's lips quirked up with satisfaction hearing the agonized moan come from Obi-Wan, though it didn't last long as he was reduced to a whimpering mess when Obi-Wan somehow managed to slip his hand _into_ the backside of his pants to pet and rub over his bare _ass. “O-Obi-Wan,”_ he begged, not even knowing _what_ he was begging for, it was just the sound that came out because _holy Sith, he's got his hand_ in _my pants,_ on _my naked ass._

Completely caught up in each kiss, daring touch, and gasp for breath, they never heard the lift chime, nor the swish of the door as it opened to an astonished, though still mildly drunk and greatly displeased, Barriss Offee.

Barriss scowled with a huff, taking in the sight of the Master and Padawan _obviously_ brawling on the lift floor like a couple of lower level thugs. _These guys, what the damn hell is wrong with them?_ “Hey! _Hey!_ You guys, stop it! _Stop it!”_ _s_ he shouted, banging her hand on the side of the lift carriage.

Both men froze at the outburst, until Anakin rolled off of his Master with a frustrated laugh, throwing an arm over his eyes. Obi-Wan struggled to sit up, bashfully pulling at the collar of his ransacked shirt to hide what he knew had to be—he smiled to himself—a string of blossoming bite marks.

“P-padawan...Offee?” he squinted up at her, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Well, um...hello there?” He gave Anakin a whack. “She's you're friend, _do_ something,” he muttered under his breath while giving the young woman a wan smile.

Barriss narrowed her eyes at the pair with disdain. “You didn't man up at all, did you, Anakin? What is _wrong_ with you?” she demanded, giving his leg a kick, missing on the first try so she doubled her effort on the second.

“Hey, Barriss. _Ow_ ,” he groused, crawling to his feet. He offered his Master a hand, bringing Obi-Wan up to an unsteady stance. “Don' worry, 'm fine. It's all good, I _promise,”_ he winked with a pat on her shoulder, bumping purposely against her as he exited the lift.

Barris was still more than drunk enough that it sent her crashing into Obi-Wan, nearly tumbling them both to the floor. _“Hey!_ Thanks, asshole!”

Obi-Wan staggered out of the lift, pointing at Anakin with an amused look. “You get called that a lot, you know.”

Anakin just rolled his eyes, turning his Master around in the _right_ direction to their quarters with a playful slap to his ass. “I suppose _that's_ in the lexicon, too?”

Obi-Wan smirked over his shoulder. “Indeed. Along with insolent, reckless, and arrogant.” And _beautiful_ , he wanted to say, because that's what Patros would say to Nisatella, but that might lead to supernovas and that _definitely_ wasn't something that was happening in a Temple corridor with Barriss Offee taking notes for the next issue of the _Annals of Galactic Medicine_. _“Anakin...”_ he called out in a sing-songy voice, dragging his fingers in swooping lines along the wall as he made his way to their door.

Anakin grinned knowingly at his friend. “My Master calls, Barriss. Gotta go!” he yelled as he jogged down the hall in pursuit. “Why're you here, anyway?”

Flummoxed by their odd behavior and a little put out by Anakin's brushoff, when she'd only stopped by out of concern for her idiot friend, Barriss hollered back without any of the Healer tact and discretion she'd been taught. “I'm here because I _thought_ you might need that med patch now, before the rash begins to show, jerk!”

Obi-Wan slowed and turned just as Anakin caught up, giving him a _very_ questioning look. “Why would you—” He pushed Anakin aside and craned his head around him, waving at Barriss. _“Why would he need a med patch?”_ he shouted at the young Healer as Anakin frantically punched the key pad trying to gain them entry.

“ _Never mind,”_ Anakin shushed him hastily, swearing under his breath as he gave up trying to key in their code, attempting to override the lock with the Force instead. “Come on, come on, _come on,”_ he muttered.

Obi-Wan leaned provocatively against the door frame, watching Anakin with great interest—for as much as he personally loathed machines, there was something magnificent about the intensity Anakin evoked when engaging with technology. That, and that thing he did with his tongue in the corner of his mouth, just begging for— _well._

“That won't work—you know the doors are all Force-shielded, even from _you_.” He insinuated himself between Anakin and the keypad, crawling a hand down his arm to lace their fingers together. “Tell me why your friend thinks you may be in im-mediate need of a med patch, and I _may_ be so inclined as to let you in.”

Anakin gazed down at their hands with amusement, scratching his calloused thumb along Obi-Wan's. “I k-kinda think you're going to let me in anyway. I _live_ here, remember?”

Obi-Wan drew his hand away, tucking both under his arms with an aloof nod. “Yes, but you see, I also can _remember_ how to get in, my dear Padawan. It seems that you cannot.”

“Yeah?” Anakin's eyes fell to little slivers, and with a quick tilt of his head, the door suddenly swished open.

The sudden loss of support behind him sent Obi-Wan reeling backwards, arms flailing until Anakin reached out and Force-tugged him—really it was more like Force- _forced_ , he was still a little drunk and a whole lot of distracted, okay?—back into his waiting arms.

“ _Oomph!”_ Anakin grunted with an insufferably cocksure grin at his Master, steering them both into their quarters and over to the common room. “Sorry?” He pressed his lips together, trying in vain to contain his laughter at the completely _peeved_ expression Obi-Wan wore after he'd lost the upper hand. Anakin was _very_ familiar with this particular look, which usually ended with a thorough tongue lashing, though he was hoping to score a different sort of tongue lashing right about now.

“Okay, yeah. _Not_ sorry.” He collapsed onto his favorite plush chair with uncontrollable giggles even as Obi-Wan growled and mumbled enough curses to make a Hutt blush.

“ _For the love of—_ that's not even supposed to work!” Obi-Wan griped as he knelt across Anakin's lap, giving Anakin a futile swat in the shoulder. He pushed up on his knees, bracketing Anakin with locked arms until he was hovering over his captive Padawan, auburn hair curtaining his face.

Anakin flashed him a mouthful of pretty white teeth. “Nope, but I did it anyway,” he agreed softly, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind his Master's ear. “C-couldn't wait anymore,” he explained, grasping Obi-Wan's waist and letting his thumbs pet under the edges of his shirt along the ridge of his hipbones.

Drawing in a shaky breath at the fleeting touches, Obi-Wan settled back on his calves, skimming his hands over Anakin's snug shirt, marveling at the outline of muscle defining his pecs, abs, even the small indent of his navel. “C-couldn't wait for what?” he asked curiously, smoothing the pad of his finger back and forth over the thin fabric concealing the peak of a nipple.

Anakin arched his back, canting his hips upward with a breathy sigh of pleasure. “F-for this. F-for _you._ ”

“Then I heartily approve,” Obi-Wan hissed and ground his hips down to meet Anakin's upward press, tilting his head to meet in another kiss. Stroking his hands up and under Anakin's shirt, he felt the radiant warmth of the other man's skin...along with an unpleasant amount of tacky grit.

“You're filthy,” he couldn't help but frown, wishing in vain that he didn't know exactly _what_ he was feeling under his fingers and _how_ it got there.

Anakin sighed deeply and halted Obi-Wan's hands, drawing them out from under his shirt as a blush crept up his cheeks. “Um...yeah. I know.” Avoiding what he was sure would be disgust in his Master's eyes, Anakin struggled to sit up, crawling out from beneath a ominously silent Obi-Wan.

He had no idea what to say at this point—what _could_ he say? He _had_ done body shots with more beings than he could count and he was covered in all kinds of shavit and he probably smelled like it, too, and if there were two things he absolutely _knew_ about his Master, it was that he had a nearly pathological affinity for hygiene _and_ an extremely low tolerance for any aroma that approached _'earthy'_ or _'organic'._ _Yeah, you've pretty much fucked this whole thing up right, Skywalker._ _Like he's gonna touch you now._

Despondent, Anakin crawled over to flop himself on the opposite couch with a huff, kicking up his feet to rest on the table, just missing the twin wine glasses in front of him. _Two? Why would he..._ oh. Sparing a wary glance at his Master, who was just sitting there on edge of his chair with his head down, staring at his folded hands between his knees, Anakin's eyes lit on a vibrant swatch of color standing out in sharp contrast from the solid cream of the couch. Curious now, he reached over to pluck out something wedged between the cushions and nearly gagged. _Oh_ _that kriffing son of bitch!_

“Are you _seriously_ gonna sit there and act like _I'm_ the filthy one here?” he demanded incredulously, holding out a nexu-print thong between his thumb and forefinger. “I mean, I know what _I_ did, but at least I didn't do it _here!”_

It was Obi-Wan's turn to redden as he scrambled to his feet, rushing over to yank the offensive garment from his grasp. _“_ _Anakin...”_ he started, scrubbing his hand over his face before suddenly retreating to the kitchen.

Shaking, Obi-Wan angrily threw the thong in the recycler, slamming it shut and flipping on the grinder. Anakin was right, of course. He had no right to criticize or comment on Anakin's activities when just hours before Obi-Wan himself was being _fucked_ by someone here in their _home_ , someone who was apparently strolling commando around the Outlander—not that _that_ was any surprise—but for Sith's sake, he could have had the decency not to leave his underwear _in my couch._

Obi-Wan leaned heavily against the cooler unit, tipping his head back with a soft _thunk_ and a sigh. _Fuck. And the only reason he was here,_ the only _reason, is that I want my own Padawan so damn much and I didn't know what to do about it._

_Apparently, I_ still _don't_ _, if I'm hiding in here._

_Fuck._

Anakin pushed off of the couch and wandered over to the windows with another heavy sigh. _So, Vos was here. You knew that_. _You know why he was here, Obi-Wan told you exactly why, you know it wasn't a serious thing. Get over it!_ He wanted to tell himself it wasn't a big deal, that what was important was that Obi-Wan was with _him_ now, not Vos. But it _was_ a big deal to Anakin, he was jealous as fuck, even if it was an immature, unreasonable double standard— _hello blowjob with Siri—_ but... He pressed his forehead against the cool glass and closed his eyes, breathing in a bit of clarity. _But nothing. Do you want him, or not? Because you're seriously fucking up the best night of your life being a jealous asshole. Grow up._

Anakin heard the loud mechanical whir of the recycler coming from the other room, but it didn't mask the waves of embarrassment, longing, and shame coming off his Master, no doubt because his shields were nearly as shot as Anakin's. Surprised, he caught fleeting images—hot, _dirty_ , images—not of Obi-Wan and Vos, but of Obi-Wan and _himself_ —things that had obviously _never_ happened between them—jarring Anakin out of his jealous petulant brooding about stupid Quinlan Vos.

Stepping back from the window, he noticed two sets of handprints in the reflection of the glass with not-very-idle-at-all curiosity. He inhaled sharply and bit his lip, glancing out of the corner of his eye towards the kitchen with a saucy tilt of his mouth. _I can get jealous, or...I can get hard._ He pressed the heel of his hand to his cock with a soft whimper. _Yeah, I'm gonna go with hard,_ he decided, imagining just how those handprints got there, and how he so very much wanted to add his own to Obi-Wan's as they made more. _But first...first we're gonna need to do something._

When Anakin was suspiciously quiet, Obi-Wan reluctantly slunk back out from the kitchen to find him in front of the window, studying the glass intensely. Obi-Wan caught his reflection, expecting to see censure, condemnation, revulsion...and instead got something more akin to a leer. “Anakin?”

“These yours?” Anakin wondered distractedly, tracing his fingers up and around the smudged prints on the glass.

“Excuse m-me?” Obi-Wan blushed uncomfortably at the other man's back. _Oh hells. It's like I was_ _engaged in_ _some kind of sex_ _pageant_ _in here, wine, thongs,_ _dirty smudged_ _window glass..._ His eyes flew to the floor in front of the window, relieved—and utterly horrified by his relief—that there wasn't a stain on the floor, or worse, splatter on the windows. “W-what?”

Anakin looked back over his shoulder, eyes dark, a mischievous twitch to his lips. “Are these _yours_?”

“ _What?”_ Obi-Wan threw up his hands, exasperated. “Why are you asking me this? Do you really expect me to answer?” He crossed his arms defensively and cupped his chin. “Would it make any difference to you?” he asked tiredly, ruthlessly grinding the heel of a hand against his eye.

Anakin regarded the window again, splaying his hand to match the span of the prints. “Probably not, no,” he admitted absently, imagining Obi-Wan pressed up against the window, breathless and sweaty while _Anakin_ took him, whispering into his ear how much he wanted him, how much he _loved_ him. “It was... _before_. Right?”

“Yes, it was,” Obi-Wan sighed warily. “Why...why are we talking about this, then? I...don't see the relevance...” _Blast_ _, I need another drink_ , he mused darkly. _Things were going much better when I was drunk. Drunk Obi-Wan got to make out with Anakin and_ _then_ _Sober-Wan comes along and kriffs everything up with his stupid mouth._

Anakin suddenly spun around, peeling his shirt up over his head with an affirmative nod and a supremely cheeky grin. _“_ _Exactly.”_ Using it to scrub at the glass, he vigorously buffed away any evidence of Quinlan Vos. “See? All gone.”

Taking his Master by the hand, Anakin cupped the back of his head as he gently lowered his mouth in a slow, tender exchange of kisses, determined to prove to Obi-Wan that he _didn't care_ , that all of that was _before_ , just like Ferus and Siri had been _before,_ and now was _right now_ with them and the _only_ thing Anakin was thinking about.

Obi-Wan let out a soft moan against his mouth, succumbing to all of the emotion Anakin had put into the kiss. He appreciated the sentiment of the gesture, but his stomach curled at the unavoidable reality that he really was _,_ as Anakin had said, just as filthy as his Padawan. That was something he simply couldn't wipe away.

_But I could wash it away._

With a soft whine, he reluctantly broke away, taking both of Anakin's hands in his. “Th-this will _never_ do. I have an idea. Come on,” he cajoled with a small, shy smile, tugging on his hands. “T-trust me...you're going to like it...” he sang as he turned, awkwardly shuffling backwards as he used one hand to start undoing Anakin's leather pants.

The corner of Anakin's mouth curved up at Obi-Wan's surprisingly playful change in mood, bumping and stumbling into the other man as they crossed the room, paying no attention to anything but the hand fumbling and jerking at the seam running right over his cock. “I l-like this idea already,” he agreed, draping his arms across his Master's shoulders. Leaning close, his mouth found Obi-Wan's again with soft, smirking, laughing kisses. “You know what would make this an even b-better idea, Master?”

“You _always_ think you have a better idea,” Obi-Wan grinned up at him, a roguish lock of auburn falling across his left eye as he steered them into the 'fresher.

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Uh, that's because I _do_? And _I_ think it would be better if you just...you know...were _naked,_ ” he whispered conspiratorially with an exaggerated nod. “ _Very_ naked.”

Obi-Wan's laugh echoed in the small space. “And the difference between _'naked'_ and _'very naked'_ is...?” With a quick flick of his wrist, the 'fresher came to life, coils of steamy air swirling out of the stall to dance around them.

“Who cares? Either way, _you're naked,_ ” Anakin shrugged dismissively, crowding close to slide his hands under and up Obi-Wan's shirt. Biting his lip, he skimmed exploring fingers through the downy trail on his stomach, up through the soft hair on his chest, a little dazed that he could be so brazen, that this was allowed now, and _wanted_ , if Obi-Wan's soft sighs and little moans were any indication. “S-so, let's go with _my_ plan, yeah?”

“As you wish,” Obi-Wan smiled oh-so-smugly, withdrawing from Anakin to quickly doff his own boots before pushing Anakin under the water and joining him, both fully clothed and completely drenched.

Anakin sputtered in surprise, swiping at the curtain of water streaming down over the fringe of his short hair into his eyes. “ _What_ are you doing?”

“ _We_ are taking a shower, my dear Padawan.” He grinned smugly up at Anakin through the darkened bangs plastered to his head from the deluge. “I thought that was obvious?”

Anakin barked out a short laugh and arched his head back under the spray, enjoying the blissful warmth of the tempest of water falling over him. He scrubbed his hands through his hair before straightening, blindly reaching for Obi-Wan to wrap his arms around his waist, finding his mouth once more. “You shouldn't, um, plan on staying clean for very long, you know. You're definitely going to need another shower.” He pressed hot, quick kisses to Obi-Wan's mouth. “And another after that.” Another kiss, hotter, needer than the last. “P-probably more.”

“Is that so? Do I need to be naked, or _very_ naked, for this?” Obi-Wan teased as his hand rose to cup Anakin's cheek, pleading with his eyes as he brushed a thumb against wet, shiny lips. “I do so hate being overdressed for an occasion. P-perhaps you c-could offer some assistance?” he suggested, voice soft and rough with need as his hand lifted to twirl Anakin's slick braid between his fingers.

Anakin bit his tongue, nostrils flaring at the gravelly rasp in Obi-Wan's normally level voice while toying with his Padawan braid, thrilling him all over again with the reminder that this wasn't just anyone, this was his _Master,_ this was _Obi-Wan_. “T-then we _really_ need to go with my plan,” he exhaled unsteadily, starting in on the remaining buttons of Obi-Wan's wrecked shirt. “Too bad about this shirt,” he lamented as he reached the last button, pushing the shirt off Obi-Wan's shoulders and letting it flutter to the tiled floor. “But I k-kinda like it a lot better _off_.”

Swallowing hard, he gazed appreciatively at the Obi-Wan's toned chest, the line of bite marks across his collarbone, the lean, muscled shoulders speckled with patches of freckles here and there, just _begging_ for Anakin's tongue. Of course, he'd seen Obi-Wan 's body many, many times, even wet and naked , but somehow there was a difference here, and it wasn't just Anakin's twitching cock—that was _nothing_ new. Maybe because it was welcomed, it was _wanted_ , and—oh, yeah—there was the matter of Obi-Wan's obvious erection outlined against those criminally tight pants. _That_ was different.

Obi-Wan flushed, catching an impression of Anakin's licentious observations as they bounded through his failing shields. _“Anakin,”_ he breathed, capturing his mouth in another fierce kiss, his hands slipping against wet smooth skin to circle his waist, both gasping at the electric slide of their bare chests as they came together under the spray.

Fed up with the discomfort of wet leather, Anakin worked a hand between them, smiling against Obi-Wan's lips at the groan rumbling from the other man as his hand purposely stroked once, twice, three times along both their confined cocks. Clumsy fingers struggled with the soaked and distended leather, until Anakin broke from the kiss with a soft curse. “O-off, need them...off...”

Nodding vehemently, Obi-Wan pushed Anakin's hands out of the way. “Here, here, l-let me help,” he insisted as he knelt, letting the water sluice over him while he fumbled with the closures. Giving in to his impatience, he yanked at them with the Force, popping each one off in rapid succession to ping around the stall. Stifling a laugh, he pressed the back of his hand against his mouth as he looked up at an aggravated Anakin. “S-sorry?”

“Hey, I liked those!” Anakin grumbled, raking Obi-Wan's hair back out of his eyes. “What happened to Jedi patience and...and...and..serenity and whatever-the-fuck?” he teased, biting his lip as he watched Obi-Wan's hands grip the waist, easing them off his hips. “N-not that I'm complaining.”

“No, not _at all_ ,” Obi-Wan quipped, glancing up with a roll of his eyes. “It just so happens that I'm nearly as fond of these walking obscenities as you are, but alas, they became an unfortunate but necessary sacrifice on the altar of our carnal—” he broke off as the resistant leather finally gave way, sliding down to Anakin's knees.

Obi-Wan suppressed a quiet whimper at the sight of Anakin's magnificent glory just inches from his mouth, proud, full, and...

He squinted. _Well, then._

Sitting back on his heels, Obi-Wan pressed his lips into a firm line, forcing a calm he wasn't necessarily certain he felt. _I suppose this is what 'before' looks like, too. From a certain point of view._ He scowled inwardly at the Force, wishing she could have provided just about any other point of _view_ on this, though.

“Yeah? I...I wasn't sure, I mean, I thought you were gonna kill me when you first saw—” Anakin felt the warm water hitting his bared legs and glanced down, expecting to see anything but a _frown_ on the other man's face. Absolutely confident that it wasn't his _cock_ Obi-Wan was unhappy with—after all, Anakin was _very_ happy with it—something else had to be wrong.

_Oh._ Anakin winced, having a n uneasy feeling he knew exactly what it was. Or really, _who._

“Master? Uh, everything okay down there?” he asked with an anxious laugh. “I mean, I k-know it's pretty fucking impressive, but I know you've seen one before.”

Despite himself, Obi-Wan choked back a laugh at Anakin's untempered vanity, casting aside any lingering petty jealousy over things that happened _before_ to firmly be in the here and now. A _now_ that featured Anakin's gloriously stiff cock _at eye level_ , leading him to idly wonder if vanity was still vanity if it was an indisputable truth _._

With a flippant toss of his head, Obi-Wan shot Anakin a reproving look, unable to resist the wicked temptation to rile him up further. “ _Impressive_ , indeed. Though I'd say this color is better suited for... _Siri_? Yes, I believe I'd recognize that shade anywhere.” He traced a probing finger over the lipstick stain, his tongue mimicking the motion around his lips. “Even... _here_.”

Anakin shuddered under the lazy swirl of that finger, letting out a long, slow breath. He'd expected everything to go right back off the rails between them again, a fight, some kind of scathing insult, and instead...instead, Obi-Wan was _literally_ being a cock teaser down there.

“Yeah? Guess you'd know, huh?” Anakin gave as casual of a shrug as he could manage, trying _so_ hard not to thrust his hips forward to chase the touch. “Best I could do under the circumstances. It's not like it was _bad_ ,” he allowed with a blithe wave of his hand.

“Ah, yes,” Obi-Wan snorted at Anakin's assessment, nodding his agreement as he continued his slow, thorough, torturous crawl around and over Anakin's cock, through the damp curls nestled around the base, close but not _too_ close. He smirked at the hitching noises Anakin made with each pass of his finger, amused that his Padawan's ample hubris and raging libido had blinded him to a simple fact: _He's not_ _the first—_ _n_ _or the last—to be a recipient of Siri's_ _oral benevolences._ _Probably not even tonight._ “Though as I recall, she's a little careless with the teeth. Never could break her of that habit. Did you find it to be a distraction, as well?”

Anakin's jaw dropped incredulously, the blatant insinuation overriding his resolve to remain still and he arched up his hips with an indecent groan. “Y-you, you c-can't be serious,” he charged in breathless gasps, head shaking his disbelief. “You're...you're... _no._ ”

Obi-Wan gave him the eyebrow _and_ the disapproving frown. “Really, Anakin? From whom do you think she acquired her skills? Hmm? It's not like that harlot sprung forth from the Force with a talent for sucking cock, you realize.”

Groaning once more, Anakin's head fell back against the cool tile, head spinning with visions of a young Padawan Kenobi instructing Padawan Tachi on how to properly give head—because it totally would have been _prope_ _r,_ with that pompous accent lecturing, criticizing, praising, _comin_ _g..._ Anakin's frantic hands scrambled and scraped at Obi-Wan's shoulders, arms, _anything,_ dragging him up to crush their mouths together in a desperate, hungry kiss, biting at Obi-Wan's mouth, his chin, down over his throat. “Did _you?”_ he growled, ducking his head to indulge in a taste of those freckles he'd spied earlier.

Obi-Wan chuckled throatily, passing his hand affectionately over Anakin's bristly short curls. “Well, yes, of c-course. After d-diplomacy, it's my o-other _specialty._ ”

Anakin raised his head, shaking it ruefully. “Both requiring oral aptitude, eh? I'll be sure to test you later. Not so much on the diplomacy, though.” He bent to snap open the buckles on his boots, tossing them one by one over the door, followed by his pants and Obi-Wan's shirt. “You know, I kinda lied earlier.”

Obi-Wan threw back his head and laughed. “Oh? Which time? That you were out with Padmé this evening? That you'd been having an ongoing affair with the Senator from Naboo? That you—”

Anakin scowled and held up a warning finger. “Don't start—I'm not the only one fabricating relationships here, _right?_ ”

Obi-Wan's mouth opened to protest, then closed. Anakin had a point, and it all fell into that box labeled _'before,'_ which was sounding more and more like some kind of convoluted logic of Quinlan's, but best to leave _that_ observation in the box, too.

“Right, yes. You were saying?” he queried with mild interest, taking the opportunity to rub his hands in soft circles over Anakin's torso, washing away the remnants of spice, spit, and all the lies and mistrust that had been between them for too long. “Confessing to a _lie_ to your Master, wasn't it?” he prompted with a teasing lilt to his voice.

Anakin moved closer, making soft, welcoming noises as Obi-Wan's hands moved up to his chest, grazing over his nipples, hardening them despite the cloying warmth in the stall. “W-when I said it wasn't bad with Siri? Yeah, that...that was a lie.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan asked nonchalantly, rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “So, it was worse? How unfortunate for you.” He lowered his mouth, flicking his tongue over Anakin's other nipple, grinning against his skin when Anakin swore softly. “Do tell, Anakin.”

Anakin pounded a fist against the tile above his head, biting back a moan as Obi-Wan's mouth closed around his nipple and _sucked_ . “It...it was fucking _g-great._ B-but only because I...I... _fuck..._ I was thinking about you. I...I came thinking it was...was y-you.”

“ _Anakin.”_ Obi-Wan's hand flew to his cock and pressed _painfully_ hard, thinking of _anything_ —galactic commerce statistics, the smell of Qui-Gon's socks after a week on Felucia, Yoda and Yaddle in the throes of passion— _anything_ to back him off after Anakin's completely salacious admission. He rested his forehead against Anakin's slick chest, taking deep calming breaths. “You _cannot_... _kriff_. You d-did not.”

“I...I did,” Anakin chuckled helplessly, sinking the fingers of his other hand into Obi-Wan's thick, wet strands. “But y-you...you have better hair,” he joked, massaging his fingers into the scalp.

“Uh huh,” Obi-Wan choked back a laugh against his chest, sliding his hands up Anakin's broad back. “And a better ass,” he quipped, lifting his head to nip playfully at his Padawan's chin.

A growl rumbled low in Anakin's throat, and his arms reached around to grab his Master, palming and kneading the firm muscle beneath the soaked, skin-tight trousers. “A _much_ better ass, _yes_ . Especially in _these_ ,” he agreed, emphasizing his lust-laden approval with another squeeze. He spread his hands wide on Obi-Wan's hips, running both thumbs right up the zipper with enough pressure to make the other man bite back an agonized whine even as he arched forward. “ Where have you been hiding these ? I'd have gone fucking _blind_ getting myself off if you'd worn these around before. _”_

“ _Kriff_ , Anakin, such language...” Obi-Wan moaned at the lurid thought of Anakin on his back in his room, under a blanket on their couch, _here_ in the 'fresher _,_ taking himself in hand to pleasure himself _because of me_.

Anakin deftly popped open the top button on the trousers, using his other hand to carefully ease down the zipper. “You have _no idea_ how many times I did that in here. Not even how many times _today_.”

“S-sounds like you have a problem,” Obi-Wan said with mock-seriousness, before cracking a wide grin.

Anakin snorted. “Yeah, I do. I have this fucking hot Master who wears these fucking hot pants and I can't seem to _get them off,”_ he growled, yanking and pushing ineffectively at the trousers. _“Where_ did you get these?”

“Oh, Quinlan and I picked them up a few years ago on Zeltros. They had a little cantina there where we’d go every night—” Anakin’s feral growl cut Obi-Wan off mid-memory. He smiled up innocently into his Padawan’s scowling face. “Problem?”

“I don’t want to hear... _anything_ about Quinlan Vos, your pants, cantinas, _any_ pleasure planets, or any combination of those!” Anakin spat out, nearly knocking Obi-Wan off his feet in his haste to liberate the other man from the tight, low-slung, sexy as all fuck— _Sith-damn you, Vos—_ pants. _“Zeltros. He got them on_ _fucking_ _Zeltros,”_ he muttered to himself as he helped Obi-Wan clumsily step out of them. He rose and shoved them in his Master's hands. “Really? You? _You_ went to Zeltros?”

“I thought you didn't want to hear about it?” Obi-Wan's answering grin was as proud as it was lopsided—it had been a long night, the shower was warm, and... _well,_ somehow he was naked, though he didn't quite remember how that happened, even though he was holding his own pants. With a somewhat resigned sigh, he tossed them over the door. "Don't act so surprised—you seem to have concocted this belief that I'm some kind of...I don't know...hopelessly undersexed naif, which, I can assure you, is so patently untrue it's laughable.”

He patted Anakin on the cheek, nudging past him to step under the spray for a quick rinse. _“Yes,_ Anakin, I did go, and _yes,_ I enjoyed it.” Slapping off the taps, he stepped out of the stall and wrapped a towel around his waist, using another to towel off his hair. “Why this is even an issue? I went to Zeltros with Quinlan, you offered yourself up on a public bar in front of _all_ of our friends. As you said...” he gave Anakin a sly smile, turning his sage words back on him as he tossed over a towel, “it was all... _before._ Right?"

Anakin growled, doing a cursory pat down before snapping the towel at his smart-assed Master, chasing him out of the 'fresher. “Oh, you think you have all the answers, don't you?”

Obi-Wan turned and held out his hands defensively, laughing and stumbling backwards as Anakin advanced on him. “I-I usually do.”

Anakin shook his head and tossed his towel aside, moving between his Master's outstretched arms to back them both against the window, both laughing and panting as hands roamed over damp skin and mouths sought out new places to taste.

A shiver raced through Obi-Wan as his shower-warmed skin made contact with the cool glass. It occurred to him that with the shades open, they were providing all of Coruscant with a front row seat, but the thought literally evaporated as Anakin gazed down at him with dark desirous eyes, cupping Obi-Wan's face in his hands before encouraging him up into slow, licking, exploring kisses.

With a naughty grin, Anakin slid down Obi-Wan's body, peppering his skin with messy wet kisses. He paused at his navel, swirling his tongue in the indent, imagining himself taking a shot off of this creamy skin, the savory spice mixing with the sweet liquor and the salty tang of Obi-Wan as the crowd cheered... Nipping possessively at the tender skin, he suddenly understood with a jealous bolt of clarity exactly why his Master had been so furious at the Outlander. _There's no fucking way I'd share him like that. He's mine._

Obi-Wan rolled his hips with a soft, encouraging sigh, chuckling as impressions of Anakin's thoughts bled through to him. “Y-you still owe me a turn,” he rasped, dragging his nails lightly up from the younger man's nape and over his scalp.

Anakin murmured his appreciation as he snuffled his way down the soft auburn trail of hair to the edge of the towel, letting his tongue flicker back and forth just below the fold. “Yeah? Well, you're drunk enough already, and I'm taking _my_ turn with you right now,” he smirked, slipping a hand up under the towel along the inside of Obi-Wan's thigh. “Unless you've got some objection?”

“N-none, none at— _nnnnghhhh,”_ he groaned pleasurably, as Anakin's hand boldly cupped his groin, thumb grazing over his balls before his palm wrapped around the base of his cock. With another involuntary thrust of his hips, the towel loosened and fell away, allowing Anakin full access to his Master's gorgeously full cock. _Kriff, what a sight,_ Anakin marveled from his vantage point, gazing up to lock eyes with Obi-Wan. With a loose, upward stroke of his palm, Anakin swept his thumb over the slit, still warm and damp from the shower, smoothing the leaking precome all over the head.

“N-not yet. Too s-soon. _Kriffing hells,_ ” Obi-Wan shuddered, clamping a hand over Anakin's and gulping for air. “Here...come _here_ ,” he cajoled, hastily pulling Anakin back up to him, crushing them together in a frantic clamor of hands and mouths. When their exposed, oversensitive cocks finally met for the first time, simultaneously rubbing and gliding hard and soft against each other, both whispered filthy curses and breathy moans, rocking their hips in an urgent, uneven rhythm to increase the friction they both desperately craved.

Anakin broke away, gasping while pressing his forehead to Obi-Wan's as he looked down between them, watching their cocks rutting alongside each other, both shiny and slick with each other's precome. “O-Obi-Wan... _fuck,_ ” was all he could get out, overwhelmed by the sight of something that had only resided in his most private of fantasies. He screwed his eyes shut, blindly searching for his Master's mouth once more, crying out as one particularly spectacular glide along the underside of the head of his cock coincided with Obi-Wan's hot, wet tongue demanding passage into his mouth to lick and suck and _own._

Obi-Wan had thought there was nothing more lewd than when Anakin used his title, the way it dripped with innuendo and a touch of erotic insolence, but that was before he'd heard him just now, moaning out Obi-Wan's name, the sound so profane and lascivious that he might never allow his Padawan to use his name in public ever again. _But in private, oh_ hells _yes._

“W-want you. N-need you,” he said hoarsely in gasps for air between a flurry of kisses. Without a doubt, he'd never _wanted_ anything as much as he wanted Anakin right now, a part of him eternally grateful for the excess of alcohol in his system dulling all of his usual defenses, proprieties, and ridiculously stupid excuses—how had he _ever_ thought they shouldn't do this?—in favor of shameless, unadulterated _begging_. _“P-_ _p_ _lease.”_

“Fuck yes, yes, _yes,_ ” Anakin groaned, awkwardly shifting, pulling and pushing so that he was now the one nakedly splayed against the glass. “H-here, right now, now, _please,_ ” he begged in return, feeding off his Master's desire pounding at the tattered remnants of his shields. Still arching and rocking against the other man, he opened his palm and beckoned with two fingers, sighing with relief when the lube materialized in his hand.

Having felt the flicker in the Force, Obi-Wan pulled back, lifting a surprised eyebrow at the tube and what Anakin was apparently offering him. He swallowed hard, not trusting his voice. Of course, _of course_ , he wanted this, he had dreamed of this, of making Anakin _his,_ but that damnable inner voice of his whispered cruelly of improprieties and forced consent and something about the balance of power, which was hysterical because had that voice been paying _any_ attention to Anakin's wandering hands and that magnificently disrespectful and lascivious mouth of his this entire evening? If anything, the balance teetered between them in a constant state of heated flux. He lifted a hand, caressing Anakin's cheek with concern. “Are you...are you certain? I don't want—”

Anakin turned into the caress, kissing Obi-Wan's palm with a nod as he shoved the tube into his other hand. “Uh huh. Are you _kidding_ me?” He turned around, spreading his legs as he wantonly pressed himself out against the glass. “Since I was _sixteen_ , remember?” He looked back at Obi-Wan, his braid whipping over his shoulder as he indicated his raised hands with the jut of his chin. “Can't make my own prints any other way, so...”

Obi-Wan's breath caught in his throat at the reminder of both his and Anakin's completely _inappropriate_ desires they'd been harboring for years. Moving up behind Anakin, he wrapped his arms around his body, nuzzling between his shoulder blades, lips ghosting over the protruding bones of his spine. “Tell me...tell me what you want,” Obi-Wan whispered, voice low and husky as he slowly ground against Anakin's ass, fingers digging into the soft skin of his hips.

Anakin pushed back, hissing as Obi-Wan's cock slid down the cleft of his ass, grazing his entrance with each rock of their bodies. “Y-you know what I want, Master. I gave you the lube, _do_ something with it,” he moaned, circling his hips to feel the brush against his entrance once more.

“S-say it. I...I want to hear you...s-say it,” Obi-Wan pleaded, voice edged with a desperate need to hear him _say_ the words, to know without a doubt that this—that _he—_ was what Anakin wanted. His hair fell in his eyes, growling low in his throat as his hips involuntarily moved harder, faster, against Anakin's ass, his control already fraying from the overwhelming sight of his Padawan so willingly spread out before him.

“ _Kriff_.” Anakin's hands slapped the glass, and he reached back to pull Obi-Wan into a biting, almost angry kiss. “I want _you,_ Master. I want you to fuck me into next week, that's how _bad_ I want you, right now? Get me ready, and fuck me, okay?” He softened his expression, eyes full of longing as his hand sunk into Obi-Wan's hair, pulling him just a breath apart. “ _Sixteen._ Don't make me wait any longer. Please?”

Obi-Wan let out a shaky, ragged breath. “The things you say...” he admonished under his breath, flipping open the cap with his teeth. He wet his fingers generously, slipping two into Anakin's cleft to press and rub at his entrance, part of him in complete disbelief that this was happening, what he was doing, what he was about to do. _With Anakin._

Anakin's breath hitched at the fluttering touches, nodding his agreement as he picked up Obi-Wan's errant thoughts. “Fuck, _right?_ It's...it's like...I never thought you'd — _oh yeahhhh,”_ he groaned as Obi-Wan slipped in a finger, working it in and out, slowly at first, faster as Anakin met each press with an answering cant of his hips backward. _“More,”_ he begged, banging the window with a fist as another finger joined the first, easier and deeper this time. “Yes, Master, _yes_.”

Obi-Wan was shaking now, barely holding on to any control whatsoever as Anakin mewled and begged and made other raw, desperate noises with each movement of Obi-Wan's fingers within him. Anakin was right—Obi-Wan smiled wryly; he'd have to get used to saying _that—_ they'd been waiting so long, not just through the interminable torture of the last several years, but through this infernally long night of constant obstacles— _yes,_ Obi-Wan could admit he was his own worst enemy, but Anakin had contributed mightily to their heinous plight with his egregious stunts and he wasn't about to let him forget it—and now, now it was _their_ time.

No more anger, jealousy, indiscriminate partners or audience—unless one counted the steady stream of Coruscanti traffic buzzing by. Obi-Wan was grateful the paparazzi had been banned from the upper levels after that incident with the reporter taking holos of Quinlan and the Hapan Queen Mother's quorum of consorts in the sacramental hot springs on the roof of the Hapes Embassy. Otherwise, there would be quite the sensational clip on the morning holonews programs, along with the usual rubbish about the secret sexual deviancy of the Jedi Order...which, Obi-Wan supposed—as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the top of Anakin's shoulder while he crooked his fingers _just so_ , making Anakin jolt and cry out a string of unintelligible Huttese—was probably just about spot-on. _There's definitely a reason Knight's Out is underground._

“Okay, okay, that's enough, _come on_...” Anakin whined, bracing his forearm across the glass and resting his forehead on it, breaths short and shallow as he licked his lips with anticipation. He heard the wet spatter of the lubricant hit Obi-Wan's hand and sank his teeth into his arm with a muffled groan. _This is it, it's_ _not a dream, oh fuck, it's_ _finally going to happen._

Slathering the lube on his hard, hot, achingly sensitive cock, Obi-Wan drew in a couple of stuttered breaths, resting his cheek against the back of Anakin's neck. _There's no going back from this, Kenobi._ He drew in another long breath, and smiled, pressing an adoring kiss to a mole on Anakin's shoulder. _And I would never want to. I want this, I want him._

_I...I love him._

Anakin jerked his head back, wide-eyed, then flashed him a blindingly bright smile. “I...I love you, too. Now fuck me, would you?”

Obi-Wan grinned stupidly back at him, suddenly gripping Anakin by the shoulders to flip him around, wanting so very much to _see_ him, to see that ridiculously angelic, devilish, _beautiful_ face as they came together for the first time. Reaching down, he wrapped his arms under Anakin's thighs to lift him, groaning as he underestimated Anakin's drunken weight and awkwardly staggered, crashing them against the window and dropping one of his legs. _“Kriff,”_ he swore with desperate frustration, his second and third attempts hampered by Anakin's laughter. “That's not helping!” he barked with an irritated laugh of his own.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Anakin laughed, brushing his thumbs over the deep creases marking the frown in Obi-Wan's beard. “Here, try...try this...ready?” He didn't actually _wait,_ which meant that when he jumped up and wrapped his legs around Obi-Wan's waist, the other man nearly topped over backwards from the momentum. Simultaneously, each tapped the Force to compensate, sending the pair crashing in the other direction with a hard thud against the window.

“ _For the love of—”_ Obi-Wan growled, but his impatience was quickly overridden, using the window for support as he reached between them, guiding his cock to Anakin's entrance. He looked up one last time, mutely seeking permission and approval from his Padawan.

Anakin loosened the grip of his legs, welcoming the pressure of Obi-Wan's cock against him. He kissed Obi-Wan softly, desperately. “ _Sixteen,_ Obi-Wan. I promise, I want this, and you do, too.”

“I so very much do, _yes,_ ” Obi-Wan sighed as he gently, carefully pressed the head of his cock into Anakin, drawing his lithe body closer to him with each little forward thrust up and answering downward press, until Anakin's velvet heat accepted him fully. _“Oh, Anakin,”_ he breathed reverently, clenching his arms tighter to hike the younger man's body up higher on the glass.

Anakin arched his head back, mouthing words without sound, as Obi-Wan filled him completely. This was...this was unlike _anything_ he could have imagined, beyond what he thought he could feel for and with someone else, and he knew there would never be anyone else for him. He wanted this with Obi-Wan forever, this passion, this intimacy, this closeness in body, mind, and the Force.

“C-can I—” Obi-Wan beseeched in a strained voice, wincing with each twitch of Anakin's muscles as Anakin shifted and adjusted, hissing through his teeth as his cock suddenly slipped in further, pressing him flush against Anakin.

“Move? _Fuck,_ you'd better,” Anakin gasped, clawing at his Master's shoulders to spur him into action. “Go, please, just... _go!”_

Obi-Wan had wanted to take it slow, to savor it, make it last, this first time together, but he lost that battle almost immediately as Anakin sunk his fingers into Obi-Wan's hair, pulling and twisting, whispering filthy pleas and dirty promises, inciting Obi-Wan to thrust into him with a punishing, driving intensity, unable to hold any of himself back.

Anakin's back, slick with sweat, slid against the window with a sound he didn't hear over his mindless babbling of “More, please, _oh fuck,_ more, Master,” and Obi-Wan's answering growls of “Yes, Anakin, _Force,_ so good, so good,” echoing throughout their quarters.

Anakin's cock ruthlessly rubbed and dragged through the sweat and precome on Obi-Wan's stomach and he reached a hand between their bodies to smear some of the wetness over one of Obi-Wan's nipples, pinching and tugging until his Master swore loudly and tossed him roughly against the window on the next thrust.

“Kriff, An-akin, I c-can't...” Obi-Wan stuttered, thrusts becoming more erratic as felt the pull low in his groin, sooner than he wanted to get there, but unable to hold on much longer, especially with Anakin doing things like _that_. _Kriffing hells._ “Need to...not...not long...”

“M-my, my braid,” Anakin panted feverishly, raking his nails over Obi-Wan's back as he edged closer to oblivion, “p-pull my... _oh fuck,_ Master...pull...my braid...”

Growling with frustration and unable to spare a hand, Obi-Wan ducked his chin down and took the plait between his teeth, grinning as he jerked his head back a couple of times to draw the braid taut.

Anakin swore profusely at the unexpectedly hotter-than-fuck sight of his braid in Obi-Wan's _mouth_ , never mind the wickedly sinful tremor each sharp tug wracked through his overstimulated senses. “ _O-Obi-Wan, I'm...I'm...oh fuck, love you, love you, love you..._ ” he chanted against Obi-Wan's mouth, giving himself over as he came, hard and messy, all over Obi-Wan's torso. “D-don't stop, w-want you to c-come, don't stop,” he ordered breathlessly, continuing to bear down and grind his ass on his Master's cock.

“G-good thing, be...because... _nghhhh_ , I can't,” Obi-Wan moaned, pressing his face into the crook of Anakin's neck, drinking in the heady scent with a helpless whimper. “Anakin...wanted this...so long...wanted you...love you...only you...” He thrust up once, twice, three times, crying out Anakin's name as the power of his release overwhelmed him, nearly buckling his knees and dropping them both to the floor.

Breathing heavily, Obi-Wan left soft kisses on Anakin's chest, stumbling on unsteady legs as he reluctantly pulled out with a sigh and lowered his feet to the floor. With a tired smile and a grunt, Obi-Wan collapsed against the window, taking Anakin's hand in his as they slid bonelessly to the floor.

Anakin wrapped tired, heavy arms around Obi-Wan's waist, lovingly petting at his sides, his back, whatever he could reach. “That was...” His hand rose, tenderly combing the hair out of his Master's eyes. He didn't even have the words, he was so completely spent. _Well-fucked, I think? Ha, more like unbelievably-fucked._

“Yes, it was,” Obi-Wan chuckled softly, shivering as their overheated bodies cooled, exhaustion beckoning to him as he came down from the rush of adrenaline, the bliss of his orgasm conspiring with the alcohol to make him drowsy and sated in the circle of Anakin's arms. Nuzzling into the warmth of his neck, he pressed lazy kisses to Anakin's pulse point. “I suppose you're going to want to have some big _talk_ about this in the morning?” he murmured teasingly as his mouth reached Anakin's ear, his hand stroking up the younger man's arm to pet his shoulder.

Anakin harrumphed, shoving at Obi-Wan half-heartedly. “Yeah, about how my Master took advantage of me, robbing me of my innocence.”

Obi-Wan snorted and would have rolled his eyes, had he been able to keep them open. “You certainly were a paragon of virtue and innocence writhing half-naked on that bar,” he mumbled, slouching them down further. With a flick of his fingers, a pair of blankets sailed over from the couch. “Here, cover your innocence.”

“Oh, shut up,” Anakin grumbled lightly, curling against Obi-Wan under the tangle of half-folded blankets. “It got your attention.”

Obi-Wan yawned as he shifted about, wrapping an arm around Anakin's waist, pulling him close. “Got everyone's attention,” he scowled, pillowing his head on his Padawan's comfortable shoulder.

“Was only aiming...for one, Master.” Anakin stroked lazy fingers through Obi-Wan's hair, and pressed a sleepy kiss to his forehead. “Love you,” he muttered, drifting off with a satisfied smile...and a line of drool escaping down his cheek.

A quiet, contented snore was Obi-Wan's reply.


End file.
